


Those of Grima

by ArgetCross



Category: Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Canon-Typical Violence, Children of the Future Past, F/F, F/M, Mild Gore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-26
Updated: 2014-07-23
Packaged: 2018-02-06 06:49:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 24,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1848484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArgetCross/pseuds/ArgetCross
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An uneasy chill woke Lon'qu and he was on his feet with his sword drawn. Over his children’s crib loomed a hooded figure, chilling in its familiarity.</p><p>"Really, this is how you greet your beloved wife?" </p><p> </p><p>In a future where the tactician that could not resist godhood comes to collect the two children she left behind. Takes place during the original timeline.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

An uneasy chill woke Lon'qu and he was on his feet with his sword drawn. Over his children’s crib loomed a hooded figure chilling in its familiarity. Lon’qu paled, but he paused for only the briefest of moments before he struck. The wraith cackled and danced out of the range of his blade. The ease at which she dodged brought hundreds of old memories to the front of his mind, filled with relief now misplaced.

"Really, this is how you greet your beloved wife?" Her hood fell onto her shoulders and Haura's face smiled back at him. It was a cold and cruel smile, with thin lips and red disdainful eyes. In her arms were the twins, sleeping against the familiar chest of their mother.

“Release my children.” Lon’qu said with a growl as he raised his blade again.  

“Did you forget that they came from me? Beautiful son and daughter of Grima.” she simpered before her smile turned wicked. The hands that held them crackled with black magic. Its tendrils brushed across their flushed cheeks. "Not another move, human, or your children will never know your face."

 "Grima..." Lon'qu snarled even as he lunged again. She shifted both children to her left arm and raised her right to block the strike. His blade ripped through the sleeve and skimmed off her arm. Gleaming dragonscales patterned the skin underneath and the fell dragon examined the unblemished scales with an air of intrigue.

"Was that supposed to hurt? For all your talk about becoming the strongest swordsman, that was pitiful. I suppose such is the limit of worthless humans." she said. Haura's face twisted into a semblance of the fell dragon, inhuman and burning bright with destruction. "No wonder you could never protect anyone, not your childhood sweetheart, not your wife, and not your children."

Lon'qu let out a hoarse shout as he swung at her. She danced away again but he succeeded in driving her towards a corner. Her words echoed like thunder in his head and drove knives into his heart. He had turned deathly pale as he realized that she had known right where to twist the handle because she still remembered their time together.

He charged at her again, aiming to slash through her chest whilst avoiding his children, and she caught the edge with her palm. The steel bit into the soft part of her hand and blood ran down the blade. The momentary surprise on her face made her look human, made her look as she did before, and Lon'qu pulled his sword back. His heart was beating in his throat and all he could hear was the rush of blood in his ears.

"Haura...give me back Marc and Morgan."

She sneered and she was all dragon again, full of brimstone and arrogance. "What greater honor could my children have than to serve their god?"

He had wasted moments on idle hope and he forced himself to become as cold as the steel in his hands, lest he suffer further heartbreak. Raising his sword parallel to the ground, he centered and grounded himself. He would not beg or plead. It had not worked before, when there had still been a glimmer of warmth and love in her pale face, right before she fell into the dragon's grip. Instead, he whispered a single prayer, to Basilio to give him strength in death, to Ker'i to harden his heart against the dragon who was not his wife, and to Naga to spare their children even at his expense.

Then he flowed forward and his sword whipped around with such speed that Grima only had time to block the blade with the back of her arm. He did not let up, as the steel screeched against the dragonscales, and broke her guard. As she stumbled back, trying to keep the children from falling, he dropped low and threw his swing against her thigh. He aimed to disable her movement, although the hard rattle of his blade meeting scales meant he only succeeded in briefly unbalancing her. No matter. Sweat ran down Lon'qu's temple as he twisted up to rip through the soft underbelly of her side.

What he didn't expect was for her to use the momentum of her falling to jab her elbow down onto his shoulder. The impact broke his form and he only managed a shallow cut along her abdomen. Her leg slammed into Lon'qu's solar plexus and he tried not to crumple as all the air escaped his lungs. The force behind her strikes held the weight and speed of a dragon, stronger than any manakete he had ever fought. Lon'qu barely managed to turn away from the full force and roll with the blows.

It had been foolhardy to fight her. She knew all his forms and moves while he had no idea how to deal with her. Her hand shot out and grabbed his collar. Still limp and gasping for air, Lon’qu offered no resistance as she hoisted him up to her eye level.

She was close enough for him to kiss her. Even now, his arms disobeyed his mind and ached to hold her. As he wheezed and tried to push air back into his lungs, he could still see Haura’s mannerisms in Grima’s face, from the way her brow creased to the way her mouth parted just so whenever they were in a difficult battle. Even with the leathery dragon scales across her face and the rage of Grima in her eyes, she looked lovely. The old anxiety made his mouth go dry.

"Pathetic. Even now, in this form, I am that weak human in your eyes." She stated without inflection and closed the distance between them. Her lips ghosted the shell of his ear and Lon’qu felt his breath hitch in his throat. With a cruel whisper, she breathed, hot, into his ear, "I will gladly dine on you tonight, dear husband."

Grima ducked her head down and dragged her teeth across the bare skin of his neck. With a hiss, she opened her jaws wide-

Lon'qu, hands trembling, snapped. His free hand struck her shoulder, an old wound, and Grima recoiled with a hiss. He grabbed her by the neck, gripping hard enough for her to gag on her wretched tongue, and her hand released his collar. They fell forward and he struck her diaphragm with the pommel of his sword. She choked on her own air and spat up clear liquid on his arm. He shoved her against the wall, knocking her head against the stone with a loud crack. Morgan woke up as he was jarred and began to wail. Grima gasped, red eyes bright, and blood ran down her forehead. Lon'qu pushed his blade up against the scales of her upper arm, trying to cut free Morgan and Marc from her grip. Grima refused to relinquish them.

They stood there, panting and wriggling against the wall, as Lon’qu tried to pry a now-wailing Morgan and Marc from her arm.

"You think you have bested me," she croaked as her unoccupied hand rose up limply to run down his cheek. Lon’qu could not help the gooseflesh that rose in the wake of her fingers. "But this is all just an amusing diversion." Her fingers lightly tapped down the arm that held her. She balled her hand into a fist and raised it above the crook of his elbow. His instincts kicked in overdrive and he let go of her before she struck to break his arm. As she dropped to her knee, bent over the children, Lon'qu placed his blade against her neck.

"I know even you won't survive if I take your head. Give me Marc and Morgan." he said, keeping his voice steady even as Morgan’s cries grew in pitch.

Grima looked up to Lon'qu and, with her furrowed brow and lopsided mouth, she looked rather pensive. "What a cold man! How absolutely alluring, your hate is. But, if you truly intended to take my head, wouldn't you have done so by now?"

Lon'qu gritted his teeth and Grima's smile became wide and demented. The tip of his sword quavered. “Be quiet.”

“You can’t kill the only person left in this world that cared about you. Do you think you can bring her back, somehow? There’s nothing left of that woman beside the tattered skin I wear and my triumphant blood! Nothing you do can stop me.” Grima said with a feral smile. Marc awoke from her brother's crying and let out a loud shriek. In that instant, Lon'qu's eyes widened and he swung.

His wife's head rolled onto the carpet, that sinister grin frozen in time.

 

Lon’qu would not have moved, had not the cries of his children stirred him back into action. As Lon'qu knelt down to grab the two children, his hands fumbled for the first time in years and he dropped his sword. Morgan quieted and cooed as he entered his father's arms. Lon’qu placed him on the bed and turned to take Marc. Marc would not stop crying and, as Lon'qu tried to rock the baby in his arms, his eyes fell on Haura's headless corpse.

Lon'qu turned away and vomited on the carpet, careful to keep Marc away. His back was drenched in cold sweat and he shivered in the cold Feroxi air. Twice his nausea rose unbearably and the bile in his mouth made him gag. His hands shook and he clutched Marc, who continued to shriek her head off, tighter.

"I was right. You are weak and insignificant."

The voice ran chills up his body and he sprung to his feet while grabbing his sword off the ground. Balancing Marc precariously against his chest, he faced Grima's head as it rolled to look up at him. His stomach turned again.

"Did you think the body of the fell dragon was as fragile as yours?" The head scowled. Lon’qu heard the telltale hiss of magic weaving and he dodged to right as dark magic struck where he had been standing. The headless body moved on its own, running forwards with its bleeding stump and Lon'qu realized a second too late who it was going for.

"Morgan!" he bellowed desperately and he ran forward. He had to jump to the side to avoid another spell and to his horror, he could not close the distance quick enough. Grima growled in frustration as its body scooped up his son in her left arm and parried Lon'qu's downward stroke with her right hand. The blade split her hand cleanly this time and Grima howled in pain. Lon'qu slashed at her again, but in his panic to avoid his son, he swung wide and Grima dropped underneath his blade. She dashed for her head, and, even as Lon'qu threw his sword at her back, crashed through the window into open air.

Wings erupted out her back and she took off in the air. His sword which had embedded itself into her shoulder, fell down into the courtyard along with a spurt of blood. He could see she slew in the air from her uneven load. Above them, in the dark clouds, Lon’qu could see Grima’s true body hovering in the distance.

Lon'qu ran to the window and roared to the fort, "Intruder in the air! To your positions!" In the crisp air, his voice traveled across the walls and the war gong began to ring. Torches flared up and the well drilled army reared up to his call. Lon'qu quickly grabbed a second sword and ran to join the guards on the walls. The blows Grima had dealt him ached but years of experience and adrenaline had taught him how to ignore and dull the pain. As he dashed down the hallways, Marc had curled up against his chest and he dared not leave her behind.   

"Sir, is that a wyvern? Should we shoot it down?" one of the commanders ran up to him as he ascended the stairs to the top.

"Take all the aerial units and run it down. Have archers at ready, but don't shoot. Retrieve my son at all costs." Lon'qu ordered and the garrison burst into further activity.

The wyvern and griffon riders streaked after Grima. Watching on the ground, Lon’qu tightened his grip on Marc. Each soldier that got close enough was struck out of the air by large swaths of dark magic. One rider crashed with her mount onto the section of the wall that Lon’qu stood on and he ran over to her. “I couldn’t-” she rasped. It was too late even with the clerics and she died moments afterwards.  

If Cordelia or Sumia had survived, instead of dying alongside Chrom but a month prior, they, with their strength and aerial talent, would surely be able to rescue Morgan. Lon’qu almost ran to get on a wyvern and take after Grima himself. The idea was madness. He knew he had no manner of approaching her without also being struck down and he had never ridden a wyvern into combat before. But still he yearned.

Then, Marc started crying again. As he tried to hush her, he knew he could not leave her behind, even as part of his heart disappeared with Morgan and Haura.

 

“I’m sorry, sir… I don’t think we can reach the dastard anymore. Truly...I’m sorry.”

As Grima grew smaller in the sky, Lon’qu’s hope, battered and fragile as it was, shattered a little further. Hollowness filled his bones. The general faded into the background of Lon’qu’s attention. He put his sword down and clutched his daughter with the remaining scraps of his strength.

“Da-...Da?” Marc said with a struggle as her father’s tears dripped on her blotchy cheeks. “Daddy. Daddy!” She was so small in his arms and Lon’qu kept looking in the empty space for her brother. Both Morgan and her had been in his arms just several hours ago when he laid them to sleep and promised he would keep them safe. He noticed Grima's blood had flecked onto her cheek and he wiped it off. The pads of his fingers tickled her and she gurgled.

“I’m here. I will never leave your side again.” His voice was scratchy and his hands, still learning how to be gentle with a child, shook. “And I am so sorry…”  

“Um. Ah- Daddy!”

He had long made the decision to follow the path of the sword. It was not a flawless philosophy, he knew it, but he thought it more than enough to bring his soul peace and protect those around him. Haura had told him, in those bright months too long ago, that she always loved watching him wield a blade.

But each time, when it had mattered, all he could do was watch. Watch Ker’i die, watch Haura fall to Grima, and watch Morgan disappear into the horizon. He did not trust himself to live through this war, let alone keep Marc safe now. And on his own face he could feel Haura's blood dry and harden.

He cursed himself, the gods, and, above all, his wife, again and again.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I wondered for a while after playing the Future Past chapters over the two Morgans. I realize it was to accommodate both genders of the avatar but it got me thinking about how both Morgans recognize the Outrealm Avatar as their mother/father, yet we only get one Morgan. What more, Morgan says during his paralogue that he was separated from his mother while traveling (supposedly through the timestream) so what became of that Avatar? So here was born a theory that the Morgan you find is Grima's Morgan.
> 
> As for the other twin? Well, we know none of the first generation survives in the original timeline.
> 
> (Also, Morgan is the boy and Marc is the girl because that makes me laugh.)


	2. Chapter 2

“Lucina, before you go, can we talk?” Haura called after her as the rest of the Shepards present filed out of the war council. Chrom glanced back with a questioning look.

Lucina nodded slowly and said, “Is this about the march tomorrow?”

“Nothing so serious. I just had some questions about the future, actually.” Haura said with a disarming smile, half aimed at Lucina and half at her father. Chrom gave her a small nod and left. He too knew the confusion of suddenly having a fully-grown child appear from the future. Lucina looked rather uncomfortable, however, but acquiesced, sitting back down at the table.

“It is not a comforting story, but I will aid you in whatever way you require to save us from that fate.” she said, furrowing her brow. Haura let out a short laugh.

“At ease, soldier. I’m not asking questions as the Shepards’ tactician, but as a mother.”

Lucina was taken aback. “Well...I don’t think I can help you there. Perhaps it would be better if I fetched Mother-”

“You misunderstand me. I wanted to look deeper into Morgan’s amnesia. Why does he only retain memories of me when I recall nothing? And although he traveled from the future, neither you nor any of the other children know him. Why is that?” Haura said as she sat down across from Lucina. As Lucina flushed from her mistake, Haura pondered Chrom’s daughter. Her bearing, her expressions, even her words all spoke of grim endurance and survival. She had seen it on all the future children, except for her own son. And while she had expected his lack of knowledge of the future allowed in part for his cheery disposition, the more she watched her son, from the way he fought to the way he spoke to the scars on his body, the more Haura had grown unsettled.

“No, I had never met Morgan in my future. Both you and my father were...lost when we went to war to prevent the Grimleal from summoning Grima. Back then, I was but a small child. I had no idea you had married, let alone had a child. And I was never close to Sir Lon’qu.” Lucina said. Haura nodded along. It was all very reasonable, albeit unfortunate, that Lucina knew nothing of Morgan’s origins.

Still, curiosity tickled Haura’s thoughts and she could not help but ask.

“The Shepards did not fall at once, did we?” Haura questioned.

Lucina had not expected that question, but shook her head. “No, many survived until a couple years before we made the crossing. But our numbers dwindled continuously over the years. Our parents fought the Risen and Grima at every turn, but with their deaths and the destruction of one of the gems, returning to the past became our only way to cheat our certain death and save the future.”

“So it took Grima, what, ten years to completely overrun the world…” Haura considered.

“Haura, once Grima returns, that is the end.” Lucina exclaimed as panic flooded her voice. Haura was startled out of her reverie as Lucina slammed her hands on the table. “I have no idea how we survived those ten years, with pestilence and villages after villages burning throughout the land. I do not think I could do it again. We may have not always seen eye to eye, but having fought by your side, I know what you’re thinking. But let me make this clear: there is no clever backup plan that can face the fell dragon. No countermeasures. She is larger than the castles of Ylisse, everything her breath touches turns to waste, and all our comrades who died could be raised again as her servants. We simply cannot fail.”  

“I understand, Lucina. I’m sorry to have worried you further.” Haura said with a gentle smile. Lucina remained standing with that adamant look in her eyes. To calm her down, Haura explained further, “It is a tactician’s nature to try and think of all outcomes and all cards to play, no matter how improbable, but it all means nothing if you don’t understand your cards to begin with. And as your tactician, I swear to you I will make it so that we will not fail to prevent that fate from befalling this world.”

“It relieves me to hear that.” Lucina nodded, with that grim expression still in place as she sat back down. Haura could not feel that Lucina hardly knew the meaning of relief, but kept her mouth silent on that one.

“It seems I cannot stop dragging my duties into everything! Just one more question.” And Haura’s playful expression turned as hard as the princess’. “I know Chrom was said to have been betrayed. Do you know how I died?”

Lucina squirmed in her seat and despite her words of fealty, Haura could easily see the distrust in her eyes. While she respected and followed faithfully Haura’s war plans, anything that dealt directly between her father and his tactician made her frown grow deeper. There had been the false accusations of adultery, a childish gambit that had exasperated Haura at first, but her real feelings ran deeper than that. Haura knew her suspicions, but so long as she kept them to herself, Haura would never give her opportunity or reason to act on them.

“...no. People never spoke of you except from old war stories, during the Ylisse-Plegia or Valmese campaigns. You were an admired tactician, but no one waxes poetically about one more dead captain in that time. I had only know that Father had been betrayed because I had eavesdropped as a child once. And by the time we had learned we could actually return to the past and meet you, none of our parents’ were alive to prepare us for the reality of the situation.” Lucina spoke slowly and she stared intently at Haura during her entire story. She was blunt as ever, Haura thought with a wry smile. The Brand of the Exalt in her eye fixed upon Haura and the tactician felt the branded back of her right hand itch.  

“Thank you. I know it was selfish of me to bring back such bitter memories. But thank you for helping me clarify some things about Morgan. I’ll see you-” Haura began to stand up, but Lucina interrupted her.

“Wait. I hadn’t wanted to say…but I can tell you how your husband died.” Lucina bit her lip and then, resolve solidifying, she said, “And I can tell you about his daughter.”

 

Any knock on the doors at midnight never hearkened good news these days. Maribelle stopped Lissa from rising, insisting she needed her rest. She had spent all last night with a sick Lucina and all day on her feet with the soldiers. For once, her friend had not the energy to protest and only sank down further in the couch. Owain and Brady had curled up by Lissa's side and neither of them had the heart to wake them up to shoo them to their beds. Maribelle had turned her nose up and muttered something about how teenage boys developed bad habits quicker than anyone else and Lissa's tired little laugh had only made her worry once again.

Maribelle wrapped a coat around her, for the castle halls had become as cold as the outside winter with the scarcity of firewood. She too had spent all day on her feet in the infirmary and her fingers were slow to fasten all the buttons. Still, her pride made her forget the ache in the balls of her feet and the way her knees cracked as she strode down the hall. She only hoped whatever called them was not another attack or news of another village burned. Perhaps the cold weather meant a family had come to buy some more firewood. Maribelle resolved to address the concern as quickly as possible so she could retreat to the warmth of the inner chambers.

When she opened the door, instead of a couple farmers or even late night guards, it was Lon’qu that stood there. Behind him assembled a regiment of soldiers and Maribelle saw from their weapons and fur-lined clothing that they were all of Ferox. He inclined his head and said in a rough voice, "Maribelle. I apologize for bothering you so late."

Maribelle let out a small tut of surprise. "Lon'qu, it has been ages. And you never write. But if you are here..." Maribelle's initial excitement turned to a pained understanding. With a hard sniff, she retreated to her little rituals. "Do you think me so craven as to not offer hospitality to you? Ylisstol graciously welcomes you and all the Feroxi refugees. Come in. The halls are cold, but it is better than sleeping in the open air."

Lon'qu gave his thanks and turned back to relay the information to his people. Maribelle opened the doors wider as Lon'qu's soldiers marched in. Each of them clung onto their weapons and marched forward with their eyes to the ground. On further inspection, Maribelle saw it was not just soldiers, but the elderly, the fathers and mothers, the children as well. There were a fair number of civilians and Maribelle had recalled that although Khan Flavia had tried to send most of the infirm out of Regna Ferox in preparation for the winter and the war, many had remained on their lands with a stubbornness that befitted the people of the north.

Now the group was small enough to fit comfortably in the Ylissean halls. They were so few in comparison to the large forts and cities Maribelle had once seen in the north, all those years ago when she had marched with the Shepards. Before she could linger on the thought, Maribelle snapped herself into action.

"You there, boy, follow me and help me bring out the blankets. Lon'qu, go to the kitchen and bring up more wood. You do remember where it is, right? I will not have the Feroxi freeze to death in our castle." Maribelle commanded and spun on her heel to raid the linen closets. The young Feroxi boy she pointed at looked a little bewildered, but tagged along her.

Lon'qu was about to protest that Ylissean winters was like spring in Ferox but Maribelle already vanished.

“Papa. Here.” He looked down to find Marc tugging at his sleeve and holding a piece of bitten hardtack. “Aren’t you hungry?”

“You need it more than I. Don’t think I didn’t see you feeding the birds with your dinner along the way.” Lon’qu said as he knelt down to meet her eyes. She avoided his stern gaze as her pouting face flushed with guilt. Tucking her chin in and hunching her slight shoulders, she resembled a retreating turtle with downturned eyes.

He had not the heart to admonish her during the march, but, lucky for him, Marc had always knew quickly when she did wrong and he rarely had to do much more than point it out. Lon’qu did not think he had the constitution to lecture and scold his daughter. In a soft voice, Marc repeated, “But aren’t you hungry? Papa gave his food to that boy.”

Lon’qu exhaled his laugh. He never managed to quite win against her. She truly was her mother’s child in that sense. “...Let’s split it then. But, you are still growing so take the bigger half. I do not need as much food as you.” he conceded and Marc brightened immediately as she grasped the biscuit in her hands and broke it unevenly. She gave him the smaller piece and was about to bite down when she stopped, mouth open around the hardtack, and glared at Lon’qu.

“You’re not eating, Papa.”

Lon’qu snorted even as he looked back at her. He had actually been considering where they could sleep that night since Marc’s thin skin and bony body meant the floors would certainly be painful for her. “Well, neither are you.”

“Okay, on a count. One, two, three…!” Marc dictated and Lon’qu lazily bit off a part of the hardtack while she shoved the whole piece in her mouth. It tasted terrible but Lon’qu had long become accustomed to less than edible food. Marc, on the other hand, shuddered as she chewed and swallowed. When she looked down to her hands, her face fell as she saw there was nothing else.

“Marc, Papa really isn’t hungry. Here. And find the jerky in our saddlebags. You shouldn’t sleep on an empty stomach.” He handed her the rest of the hardtack and she looked conflicted for a moment, before tearing into it.

“I’ll get water,” she exclaimed through a mouthful of crumbs and ran off. Lon’qu stood up as he watched her go, the long frayed fringes of her coat flapping in the wind she kicked up behind her. In her youth, she was always very oblivious to the environment around her, which meant even in these dark times, her smile carried a brightness unblemished. He had worried earlier as he had to carry her on his shoulders much of the march to Ylisse, but her strength seemed to have returned. Perhaps he could ask Maribelle if there were any beds for her. He hated to ask for charity and increase his debt like this, but for Marc he could swallow his pride.  

Speaking of Maribelle, he could hear her voice ringing out in that familiar tone of outrage. He turned to see that she had set upon a soldier that tried to tear down the tapestries as blankets.

"-you careless pauper! These noble works of art insulate the entire castle and all its inhabitants and you would take them to warm simply yourself? Have you no ounce of knightly chivalry-"

Lon'qu came over and interrupted, "Maribelle. Ferox's army is my responsibility now. You should return to sleep." The soldier, who had only looked part confused and part frightened when Maribelle set upon him, recoiled at Lon'qu's glare. Meekly, he returned the tapestry to the wall.

Maribelle, coming down from her indignation, turned pale as she grasped the meaning behind his words. "When you said Ferox's army... do you mean to tell me this all that is left? What about Khan Flavia?"

"...Khan Flavia was the reason we survived the evening’s ambush. She held off an entire regiment of Grimleal by herself as we lost the fort. Regna Ferox and her Khan has fallen." Lon'qu said. Somewhere behind them, someone burst into tears and Lon'qu stood there with a strained expression on his face.

Maribelle had no words. Among the old royalty, Khan Flavia had survived the longest and Maribelle had felt herself gravitate naturally to the indomitable nature of the East Khan, despite her uncouth behavior and raucous laughter. She was their last great leader and Regna Ferox the last great kingdom. Ylisse was practically only Ylisstol and its surrounding acres now. Plegia had long be wasted to the ground. Who knew what was happening with the dynasts over the sea, for they no longer had any method of communicating with the other continent.

“...what of the west? Do you tell me this is all that’s left?” She repeated hollowly.

Lon’qu’s brow furrowed. “As of last month, there was the two forts left along the western riverbank. Area Ferox houses the rest of Flavia’s clan and they will fight to the death to protect it. The Fortress in the Northern Sleeping Lands has proven too cold for Risen or human to inhabit any longer without southern supplies and it has been abandoned. But the Longfort was our last link to Ylisse and it is overtaken by Risen now. We will not know what happens in the west unless messengers cut across Plegia. An impossibility.” he said in a low voice.

The hopelessness permeated the air and Maribelle could feel her own shoulders shaking. Then she remembered Lissa with her sleepy smile and their sons, curled up with only bright dreams in their heads. She was not a moping sort of woman, not when she still had people to safeguard and protect.

"What you all need is rest from your march. Lon'qu, the fireplaces. You will be safe in our walls. We can talk tomorrow morning when Stahl and Sully return from the front lines." Maribelle said and, calling her helper over again, took off. Each of her steps left a resounding clack-clack of her heels. Lon'qu, who knew trying to dissuade Maribelle when her mind was made up was near impossible, watched her disappear down another turn of the hallway. Then, he turned to look at all that was left of his people as they unpacked what little they had, shared their remaining food, and huddled together, and left to find firewood to warm them with.

 

It had become the wee hours of the morning when Maribelle was satisfied that she had healed any lingering wounds and as many blankets were left had been distributed out to the refugees. The frail elderly and children were given the remaining beds, but most of the Feroxi had to make do with the carpets on the floor. Only then did she leave to her private quarters. She hoped Lissa had already fallen asleep so not to ruin her entire night with such drastic news. Aiming to postpone her entrance, Maribelle had been pacing the corridor when she saw him crouching in the courtyard. "Lon'qu, what on earth are you doing in the dirt like a grubby beggar like that?"

"...honoring our fallen." he murmured. As Maribelle left the corridor and moved into the courtyard, she could see the shovel in his hands and the hole forming in the ground. "They were strong men and women that laid down their lives so we could flee like cowards. Flavia's shoes cannot be filled by me like this."

Maribelle came as close to him as she dared. Even now, she could see him becoming jumpy if she stepped within that invisible circle of three paces. "Do not disparage your survival. We cannot all be the giants that passed before us. We are worse off without her, but those spineless curs will feel our wrath tenfold." She said in an imitation of her regular haughty manner and she lifted her hand as to rest it on Lon'qu's shoulder and then paused, "May I?"

Lon'qu gritted his teeth and nodded. Maribelle stepped forward and laid her hand on his shoulder in camaraderie. He was tense underneath his armor and it pained her to see him in the poor shape he was in. He had clearly not slept well in weeks and his clothes were ripped and covered in the refuse of battle against the Risen. And his anxiety was definitely worse. In their youth, Maribelle had even gotten him to hold her hand once off the battlefield without breaking into sweat. Now they had a decade between them and shadows of loved ones haunted their eyes whenever they closed them.

Maribelle studied him like she would a fine piece of china or a new parasol, careful not to leave any blemish with her stares. He had started to grey in the undersides of his messy hair and the furrows of his brow had grown deeper. His shoulders had their same broadness but they slumped inward more. He certainly was stronger, more polished, he would say, but the air of vitality had left his face. She could not fault him, for the war had left the same weariness in her, although she never allowed herself the luxury of feeling it, except for late nights with Lissa.

Maribelle squeezed once and dropped her hand. He relaxed immediately.

"I am sorry. I mean you no offense. It is still… good to see you in health. It is I who has gotten worse." He said as he ran his fingers through his hair in frustration. He did not need to say why. They both knew.

"Well, this war has been hard on all of us. Believe me, you are still much better than you were once and I still abide by my promise to aid you as your friend in any way possible.” Maribelle insisted.

“Gods, you still remember that?” Lon’qu said with a harsh laugh as he turned to spear the dirt again with the shovel. “We were such children then. I had believed I could change the way my past affected me with her. That I could be strong enough to conquer that.”

“It is a shared regret.” she stated baldly and he paused to give her a bitter look. Maribelle met his glare unflinchingly.

Then he exhaled in a long sigh and murmured, “So it is.”

Maribelle had spent many nights lying awake in her bed, wondering what Lon’qu and many of the Shepards must have as well. The first question was always whether or not there was something they could have done differently, either to save her or end her. The second was how much had been sealed from the moment Chrom invited her into their fold as a Shepard. And the third was whether she had faked every smile, every tear, and every loving word that fell from her mouth. Maribelle could still remember the glow on Haura’s face and the loving teases and flirtations upon her lips that day of her and Lon’qu’s marriage. She and all the Shepards at the time had been giddy and ecstatic at the joy of their union, even during the middle of wartime.

It seemed an eternity ago. She had nearly fully grown children now, a regiment worth of dead comrades, and equally dead dreams. The oncoming apocalypse had not ended the corruption that led poor farmer boys to fight Risen while others cowered in their manors. Any semblance of justice had disappeared under starving mobs and the steel of an uncaring knight’s arm. Maribelle had despaired.

Still, she simply had not the time or energy. Lissa had stretched herself paper thin between her exalt duties, the war, and her family. The least Maribelle could do was catch all the issues Lissa could not attend to, sneak out of bed after putting Lissa to sleep, and rack her brains for solutions from how to avoid disease from the cramped and unclean streets to where could they search next for the gems until she fell asleep sprawled on the desk. Every evening, she would feel the biting regret and the anger that roiled deep in her belly over the thousands of injustices. But come morning with more injuries, more news of fallen villagers, more refugees, dwindling supplies, she had to put it out of her mind for -how it killed her slowly!- it was a distraction.

They stood in silence as Lon’qu dug and Maribelle tried to not fall asleep on her feet. Tomorrow morning she would have to explain everything to Lissa, start organizing the Feroxi so they could have a roof, work, and food, and check on Lucina again. The girl had gotten sick training out in the rain and Lissa and Maribelle had panicked. All that chaos would begin in a couple hours. For now, Maribelle relished the calm.

Lon’qu had finished digging his pit and began placing stones around the perimeter. He threw in kindling and set it alight by dragging his knife across flint with a sharp, practiced motion. It reminded Maribelle of when Frederick was still alive and taught the children how to start a fire in the wilderness, the first of his many lessons. Owain had tried to take one of the flaming branches as a legendary stave of power to face his exalted cousins with and the entire ordeal had left Owain, Cynthia, and Lucina running laps until dinner. The memory brought a smile to Maribelle’s face and a question to mind.

“Thank you, Maribelle. I will strive to pay back this debt as quickly as possible.” Lon’qu said all of a sudden as he placed the funerary objects in the fire to burn. Various little symbolic objects, from paper money to a replica badge of honor, all went into the fire. Flavia’s name, written in golden ink, as bright as her hair, on paper as red as her armor, was placed in last and Maribelle watched, entranced, by the way the fire traced out the swirls and dips of her name, before expiring all at once into a blackened flower of ash.

“For what? Do you think me so churlish to hold this over your head as a debt? Are we not friends?” she asked after the fire had begun to die down. “Rather than wasting your breath with unnecessary thanks, you should tell me how you have fared. It has been eight years since I last saw you. Brady, Owain, Lucina, and Cynthia, they’ve all grown so. I warn you, however, that Owain strives to master the sword- he will most likely pester you unfailingly when he finds you are here. Lissa raised him on many fanciful stories of our youth.”

“Lissa is doing well? And what of your own? Brady?” he asked as he stood up. Careful of the distance between them, they strolled out of the courtyard and back into the comparably warm halls.

“Dear Exalt Lissa is doing as well as one possibly can. She works herself too hard. As for Brady, well, he tries to be good even though I have no idea where on earth he picked up so many poor habits. It is positively distressing. I do take pride in his violin playing, but do not tell him I said so, else he will languish. What of your children? How are the twins? I have not seen them amid the ruckus, I think.”

“...I did never tell anyone in Ylisse, did I?” Lon’qu said. Hearing his tone of voice, Maribelle’s insides clenched. They stopped in the hallway and Maribelle turned to confront him. “Marc is wonderful. She takes after her mother in all the best ways. She is quick, daring, and strong, if a bit shy. I feared being enough of a parent to her, but she endeared the entire army. So I have no worries- she will always be taken care of.”

“She sounds like a darling.” Maribelle started, relieved that whatever she feared was unfounded. At Lon’qu’s distressed expression, however, she faltered. Never one to run away from the truth, she asked outright, “That is not all, is it? Your son?”

“Morgan was...taken by Grima shortly after we returned to Ferox eight years ago. She came for both of them and we fought. But she tricked me and stole Morgan right from under my nose. My son...she wished to make them servants of Grima.” He closed his eyes and turned his head away.

“No…” Maribelle breathed and the horror on her face was a pale reflection of Lon’qu’s own anguish. Hundreds of questions ran through her head and she had to think to breathe. “...Was it really her? Can it be true? It’s her that betrayed Prince Chrom? The one who was his dearest friend?”

“No-! It- that monster may have resembled her but Grima is Grima.” His knuckles were white as he gripped his sword. “I cannot...bear to think they are the same.”

This time, she did not ask for permission as she stepped forward and wrapped him in an embrace. He went rigid, arms falling slack to his side, and Maribelle, with her ear against his chest, could hear the rapid beat of his heart.

“Maribelle…” he croaked, “I can’t…”

“I know you’re scared. It’s okay to be scared. You loved her. It must hurt so much. I’m so sorry we could not be by your side.” she murmured as she did to Brady when he came to her, scared and aware of the dying world they lived in. Inch by inch, she could feel him slump and his breath resume in ragged gasps. Something wet hit the top of her head and she could only manage a sad smile. “Parents have to cry sometimes too.” 

A quiet but commanding interrupted them.

“Auntie Maribelle? Why are you hugging this strange man?” Maribelle released Lon’qu, who quickly turned away, and saw Lucina standing there with eyes bright with fever and a furrowed brow. She had a large blanket wrapped around her shoulders but still she shivered.

“Young lady, what on earth are you doing out of bed? It is the middle of the night and you are in no condition to be wandering these cold halls!” Maribelle scolded as she strode over to Lucina. The girl had hit several of growth spurts during her adolescence and stood a hair taller than Maribelle. It did not stop her from cowering in the face of Maribelle’s wrath.

“I heard your voices. Please tell me, what did you mean when you said Father was betrayed by his dearest friend? And who is this?” Lucina pleaded as she looked at Lon’qu with suspicion. The Feroxi swordsman, somewhat recovered from Maribelle’s impromptu hug, straightened up and met Lucina’s stare unflinchingly. She could easily see his strength as a swordsman and grew more wary.

“This is Sir Lon’qu from Regna Ferox. Remember Lissa’s stories? And to think, a princess eavesdropping. Forget all you heard. Now back to your bed. If you worsen, you may be crippled and never have the strength to wield a sword again. Do you understand me?” Maribelle said and Lucina gave a mute nod.

She was clearly still troubled as she trudged back down the hall to her room, turning her head back every couple steps to stare at Maribelle and Lon’qu.

“You have told them nothing.” he said curtly as she disappeared. Chrom's daughter looked formidable indeed with the noble bearing of her shoulders and that gaze which seized up the room upon entering.

Maribelle, satisfied Lucina had indeed returned to her room, turned back. “Of course not. They have enough problems with this war. Everyone who knew Haura knows and won’t be fooled. Lissa and I try to save them needless pain. It is not like they can fix our mistakes anyhow. ...did you tell Marc?”

“She knew. That she had a twin and he was missing. When she turned nine, she became obsessed with figuring out what she had lost. I told her as little as possible. But she worked it out in the end. And now she wants to find them. Morgan and Haura both.” Lon’qu said with a scowl.

It had been one of the few times he had lost his temper with her and he feared for a while she would, with the naive stubbornness of a child, try to leave. In the end, when he found her crying in her room, they had managed to reconcile and he held her until she fell asleep. The entire ordeal left him feeling that same sense of powerlessness from when he was a child, of a world spinning out of control and he was merely a spectator. To this day, he would see her look to the sky or stare at her face in the mirror as if to capture the shadows of her lost brother.

Maribelle let out a yawn that shuddered through her entire body. Exhaustion had outweighed lady like habits. “It is natural for children to be curious and to want a whole family. But Marc is young. Surely she will mature out of it. This lifestyle all too often demands that. And besides, if she is anything like her parents, she would never just abandon you. You need her as much as she needs you, after all.” she said with a self-assurance that made it hard for Lon’qu to object.   

Behind them, the first slivers of the sun rose. Their faces were dappled with red and orange when they turned to face the new dawn and they squinted in the glare. “Thank you again, Maribelle.” he murmured.

“Don’t be crude. I desire no thanks from a friend. Rather, thank you for letting me hold you and sharing your worries with me, you obstinate fool.”

 

Haura listened to Lucina’s story of her childhood with a quiet stillness that had settled over all her limbs.

“Marc always said her mother had died at childbirth. Sir Lon’qu was a doting father though, and spent nearly all the time he was not at war with her. Marc and I were not close, for she was much younger than me. Owain and Cynthia could perhaps tell you more about what kind of a person she was; they were good friends. But, when Sir Lon’qu did not return from a campaign to retrieve the Fire Emblem, even I saw the change in her. She began training like a madwoman possessed and insisted on joining us to fight the Risen. When I sparred against her, I remember a sense of mania behind her blade. Then Lady Maribelle and Exalt Lissa were gone and it was just us children.” Lucina said and then paused. “Are you alright? I realize this may be troubling to hear, milady, especially since Marc might not have been, well-”

“If Lon’qu found another wife after my death and they had a daughter as wonderful as you say, how can I be angry?” Haura replied with a little bit of the teasing twinkle returning to her eyes. “Would I rather have heard he spent the rest of his days grieving for me? It gives me great pleasure to know that his fear of women really could have improved with time and he could have found love again.”

Lucina said hotly, “I am not so naive as to not believe that. But it would be natural to be upset that you could not be the only love of someone’s life.”

Haura burst out into laughter. “This is where being the Foreseer is hurting you, isn’t it? You already saw all the conclusions and keep thinking us as some inevitability, all our fights and relationships, in a cascade of certainty. But as someone who only has this one timeline and this unknown future, I see opportunities, possibilities. If the future was so certain, I surely could never have met such a wonderful young woman I had only known as a babe and spoken to her as my equal. That we could be friends and ponder the mystery of time travel.” she said. Lucina blinked in confusion and then smiled, soft and earnest. She was beautiful when she need not shoulder a world of burdens by herself.

“So Marc, did she really look nothing like me?” Haura asked and Lucina looked gratified.

“Hah, I knew you could not possibly be so nonchalant about it! Marc had her father’s height, but long, soft brown hair that fell so neatly together. She had the same baby face Morgan has, so it is rather easy to see they would have been related. Though I was never good at the whole tell-a-child-by-their-parent comparison…” Lucina admitted.

“And Marc, was she there when you crossed over into the past? Should we be checking more ancient ruins for my stepchild? Although, would it really be a stepchild if I was the first wife…?” Haura said as a joke, but she could already read from the way Lucina tensed and the smile melted from her face that it was not so simple an ending.

“It was chaos when we tried to travel back. Grima had razed Ylisstol to the ground. That is why I have been unable to tell Father who else we should be looking for- more than just influencing the past, I was the first through the gate and I do not know who else managed to follow. And Marc…”

Haura braced herself as Lucina bowed her head.

“She demanded to hold off the Grimleal’s high general herself and before we could stop her, she charged into Grima’s forces, straight for the fell dragon.”

They were silent for a moment as Haura processed all she heard. With a heavy sigh, she leaned back in her chair. “Of course his child would be a martyr and protector, through and through.”

“I’m sorry-”

“There is nothing to apologize for. I’m sure she would be happy to know you all made it here alive to fight by our sides.” Haura said with a smile. Lucina nodded numbly even as she knew the tactician’s heart fracturing slightly for the future daughter of her beloved. She stood up and Lucina mimicked her. What Lucian didn't expect was Haura to come around the table and give the princess a hug. She stiffened for moment before resting her hands on Haura's back. Haura's chuckles vibrated against Lucina.

"So stiff, you and my husband are!"

As Lucina pushed past her father, out of the tent, Chrom wondered what gotten had gotten into his daughter and why she was so red in her face.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another oneshot becomes a three part story. This chapter is really long too, because I love Maribelle and Lucina a lot. Maribelle is just such a great, proud character and I don't know if I can do her justice. Her being Exalt Lissa's right hand woman in the future is an obvious headcanon for me. Lucina with Haura, a female tactician that isn't her mother, is great on another level. The entire relationship becomes really subtle and awkward and showcases a part of Lucina we rarely get to see (childish jealousy).
> 
> As a note to the readers, I started considering adding little illustrations to my fics. What do you think?


	3. Chapter 3

The fell dragon flew overhead and beat its mighty wings, creating winds that knocked Marc off her feet. She fell onto the ground filled and knocked her hipbone into rubble. Cynthia shrieked as she and her pegasus were blown past Marc's head. All around them the recently fallen refugees rose again as grey skinned Risen, moaning and falling over one another. Ylisstol was burning.

"Get up, you craven idiots! Nah said Naga will open the portal at the temple, but only if we can get there-!" Severa shouted as she struggled back up to her feet, pigtails streaking behind her in the wind.

"We know, Severa. We were there. None of us want to be face down in the dirt right now." Inigo said with a weary grin and Severa shot him an angry look. All around them, scattered in the smoldering ruins of a city block, tiny figures stood up, heads bowed, knees crooked. Their eyes glowed like Grima and one by one they roared, adding their voices together into a deafening cacophony.

“Gods, why don’t they ever shut up? You’re all so annoying!” Severa screamed as she ran forward to cut down the Risen that started charging towards their prone friends. As she stood in front Marc, she cut a rather heroic form outlined in the glow from the fire with scuffed armor and a battered sword as she demanded, “Marc, get up. I’m not going to let you die eating dirt like that.”

Marc gritted her teeth and pushed herself up as well. “No worries here, Severa. I got it.” she chirped in a hollow imitation of her usual cheerful tone.

“Hmph. Empty headed as usual. Try to stay alive.” Severa said in her biting voice even as her face betrayed relief that Marc seemed uninjured.

Around them, the winds stopped as Grima coiled above the castle and dipped its head down to the high tower. The lightning that crashed around its form and the sinuous scaled body that emitted a miasma darker than a moonless night took Marc's breath away. She fumbled to unsheathe her blade as her thin arms trembled. The mere presence of the fell dragon made the air thicker and sweat dripped down her brow. Breathing turned into ragged breaths as Grima lifted her head and for a trembling moment, Marc could see those six glowing red eyes boring into her all those miles away. She felt the brand underneath her left breast flare up in an aching itch despite the numbness of the rest of her body underneath her armor. Her dry lips parted.

And then Grima roared and all the children covered their ears as glass shattered and their bones rattled. Even the Risen cowered under their master. The children stood miles away, but they could still hear her words:

"Your father and mother are dead, little one!"

Their collective outrage galvanized the children as some screamed, others turned to charge forward, and Marc, in utter fear, realized it was only half true. Her hand had unconsciously went to clutch her side, hands digging into her ribs. She had not known true fear all her life, not until her father died and her world was plunged into uncertainty without his indomitable presence. Marc knew not how to deal with how her hands shook, how her blood seemed to pulse in her ears, and how her entire body forgot how to move, let alone fight.

“...Marc, come on!” Noire cried out as one of her arrows flew straight and true, over Marc’s head to fell a Risen running towards them.

In the back of her head she could hear Papa's deep voice steadying her as he always did each time before a spar.

"When it matters, you cannot make any mistakes. Now, clear your head and try again."

Marc placed both hands on her blade, breathed in deep, and turned away from the castle.  

The temple was still another three blocks from where they had been scattered. Its roof, she could see, had been blown off and only its battered walls remained. The newly Risen had began to fight with whatever they could get their hands on, usually rubble or broken tools. A brick nicked Severa in the side of her head and Marc heard her roar, "How dare you-?" before beheading the offender.

Marc dodged the projectiles, using each step to flow forward. She could visualize her father’s back in front of her, like when she had, wobbling, mimicked his circling and weaving steps during her first lessons. She had practiced this footwork until her legs seized up in her sleep. He was still here now, guiding her movements, as she ducked under to the Risen's side and drove her blade through it in one forward step. It disintegrated into smoke but Marc had already stepped past it, pivoted, and glided forward to rip apart the next shambling corpse. And again. Again.

Around her she could hear the fizz and crackle of magic and sound of swords and spears driven into flesh amid the loud rumbles of the fires blazing through the city. She did not dare look back to the dragon looming over them again. Kjelle's war cry pierced through the sounds of the fight and Marc spared a glance to see her drive apart the crowd of Risen that surrounded Yarne.

"Where are they?" Laurent muttered what everyone was thinking. Cynthia kept veering into the sky as if to take off after them, only for Kjelle to call her down. They crossed the first block and then the second.

“Pathetic. If you keep getting distracted, you’ll die for sure. Do you really believe Lucina wouldn’t survive this?” Kjelle shouted. “Stop falling behind or she’ll be long gone by the time we make it there.”

“The great hero, fall behind? Hah! Not a chance. I see what you’re doing, Kjelle, trying to steal all the glory for yourself. Noire, back us up. Marc, by my side! We, brothers in our sword arms, will reach the temple first.” Owain crowed as Noire finished off the Risen he had struck with a quick shot to the head.

“Are you sure it is safe? Shouldn’t we stay in Kjelle’s formation? And did you forget that Marc is a girl again…?” Noire muttered and looked up at her friend for some sort of reaction.

Marc said nothing and her normally cheery face was grim. Even as she narrowed her focus to each Risen around her, to the thin, quivering edge of her blade, her heart had been beating out a stutter underneath that hot brand on her skin. The feeling grew each time they stepped closer to the temple. An unbelievable yearning, of desire unfocused arose in her, as if she had been confined in a stony castle for days on end and her joints crackled with unspent energy. He had to be there, waiting. There was no other explanation.

“Pahh, Kjelle isn’t our tactician or our commander. What say you, Marc?” Owain came over and clapped her on her back.

She gave him a wan smile as she asked for her father’s forgiveness in her head. She could not resist the call. “...can you keep up, partner?”

Her oldest friend grinned as his eyes alighted with the challenge. “Try me.” Behind them, Severa and Kjelle yelled at them. With a great crackle, a nearby flaming building collapsed.  

Swords ready, they charged forward.  

 

Lucina was sure that she had been devoured. For a moment, she had met that unconquerable darkness with Falchion, eyes tearing up and wide with fear. Then she had flinched and she was pulled away by a force into what she believed to be death. Only did Grima’s roars of rage made her look up.

“Hang on tight!” Nah’s ringing voice vibrated through her bright scales and Lucina realized she was flat on Nah’s spiny back. To her right, Gerome and Brady with his rescue staff streaked away as the fell dragon hurled noxious flames large enough to engulf buildings at them. Lucina lashed herself to Nah’s back and neck as they too began to dive and weave away from Grima’s wrath. The fumes wafted up and created strong updrafts that Nah’s wings struggled against. She was no wyvern and rolled, twisted, and lunged through the air without hesitation in order to cut across the sky. Lucina felt her arms and legs chafe against Nah’s scales, but only clung on tighter as Nah flared her wings in a heart stopping brake and then shot forward in a barrel roll to avoid Risen archers.

“I can see the temple! We’re almost there-” Lucina cried out and then to her horror, she saw Gerome and Brady fall in a streaking arc earthbound.

"Should I go after them?" Nah shouted back and the degree of uncertainty in her voice made Lucina pause in her shaken state.

Then Gerome crashed into the ground with Minerva. Risen were blown back around them and Brady had tumbled down onto the hard dirt. Seeing Gerome limp in his saddle and Brady look around the crowd of Risen with fear in his eyes, Lucina quickly made her decision. “I won't let another person die on my watch." Lucina commanded and together, she and Nah shot to the streets.

With a roar, Nah sprayed the Risen with blinding ice and Lucina jumped down to the ground, Falchion at ready. She could see Brady’s shoulders shaking as he kept his head down and his focus on healing Gerome. A Risen barbarian roared and raised his axe above Brady’s prone form. Lucina charged and threw her entire weight behind her swing. She cleaved the one aiming for Brady from head to toe and whirled around to rip apart another Risen, scattering them into purple smoke. Behind her, Minerva lunged for the undead soldiers and crunched them between her teeth. Lucina parried an incoming axe and was sent skidding back.

"Duck!" Nah cried out and, as Lucina dropped low to the ground, a blast of icy dragonbreath felled that Risen.   

"Lucina! Ya done saved our asses." Brady cried out and a sniff escaped his voice.

"How's Gerome? Can we move him?" Lucina yelled over her shoulder as Falchion whistled through the air and impaled another Risen. They seemed unending, made from the bodies of her civilian subjects, and Lucina kept one eye on the horizon where Grima swirled in the sky. It would not be long before the fell dragon realized they were down there.

"He broke his ribs. I'm almost done with them. But don't ask me 'bout the dragon- I don't know the first things about healing lizards." Brady said.  

“Minerva… is not a lizard.” Gerome grunted in protest as he tried to rise.

“Oy, save that stupid macho stunt after we get out of here. You’re gonna mess up all the ribs I just reset!” Brady protested.

“Enough! Can we move him? We need to get to the temple now- before it is too defiled for Naga to perform the ritual!” Nah roared and in her dragon form, it shook the ground.

Minerva understood and lowered her neck down. As Nah held off the scattered Risen, Brady and Lucina fastened Gerome into the saddle. "I'll ride with him so he doesn't fall off. Besides, I'm useless on the ground anyway." Brady said and Lucina thanked him. Before Minerva took off, however, Gerome grabbed Lucina's wrist.

"Here. Before there isn’t any more time. For the future. Your eyes will give it all away when you meet them." he said. In his other hand was a blue lacquered butterfly mask with gold swirling designs. Lucina took it hesitantly. She had not seen such beauty in a long time and she knew he had fashioned it himself. Nothing like this had been crafted for years.

"Thank you. I will wear this proudly." Lucina said and Gerome let go of her to lean limply back against Minerva.

"I'll see you in the future, Marth." Gerome muttered.

"Listen to him, he's delirious!" Brady exclaimed. "That fall must have been worse than I thought. Better hurry- we’ll follow you in the sky.”

Lucina stepped back as Minerva took off. A trickle of blood hit the cobblestone and it pained Lucina when she realized the wyvern had ignored her own injuries to bear her master to safety.

Nah retreated to Lucina’s side and dropped back down into her humanoid form amid a burst of iridescent petals. Her face was slick with sweat. “Holding that form for that long was a little more difficult than I expected.” She said as she bent over her knees and gasped for breath, “I cleared out most of this block, so just...give me a moment, Lucina.”

“Thank you, Nah. I would have been eaten by now if you didn’t save me. Stay close to me.” Lucina said.

To free her hands, Lucina sheathed Falchion. Then, careful not to damage the piece of art, Lucina pulled back her hair and snapped on the mask. The eye slits were not as narrow as she thought they would be, but her peripheral vision did suffer a bit. She tucked her hair down her collar so it would not billow around and get caught in the angles of the butterfly wings. Then, she pulled out Falchion again and something felt different with the blade in her hand.

“You look like a boy, Lucina. A young noble lord.” Nah remarked as she straightened up.

Deepening her voice, Lucina said, “This may be a good disguise yet.” Nah looked faintly amused, which meant she thought it hilarious. They took off, not willing to tarry in the Risen filled streets much longer. As Lucina ran, behind the mask, a sense of liberation filled her lungs and it allowed her to focus on the pumping of her legs and the weight of Falchion. She would not fail. There was no alternative.   

"Lucy, is that you? You're okay." Cynthia's shriek managed to cut through the din of a falling city and Lucina looked up to see the pegasus knight trot next to her in the air. "I'm so relieved. Also, cool mask!"

"What about everyone else?" Lucina called back.

"All good here. Nothing that’s gonna stop us. They're coming up the east end. Owain, Marc, and Noire rushed ahead though- Kjelle wouldn't let me follow them. But they're fighting on the temple steps now. The entire building is infested with Grimleal!" Cynthia said.

"No... don't tell me they know." Nah whispered as her brow furrowed. "We're running straight into an ambush at this rate."

"We can take them. As long as everyone is still alive and we still have this hope-" Lucina insisted.     

"Listen, Lucy, I want you to run for the portal the moment it's opened." Cynthia said and the upward cheer of her voice could not dampen the heaviness of her statement. "This hope is you. Not any of the rest of us. We'll try to follow, if we can, but no matter what happens, you have to promise you'll make it to the past. Even if that means leaving the rest of us behind."

"No, Cynthia-" Lucina exclaimed as she nearly tripped over her own feet.

"You're the one always telling me I need to think of the future and prepare for the worst! Please, promise a sister in arms this. Our parents gave our lives for this hope of defeating Grima once and for all. Mom died a hero. I don't intend to be outshone like that!" Cynthia said and now her voice quavered despite her earnest eyes.

Nah looked at Cynthia with a new quiet respect. "I echo Cynthia's sentiments. And I think you'll find each and every one of your friends will say the same. Lucina, you are Chrom's best chance in the past." she said.

"I cannot accept this!" Lucina protested. "Promise me that you'll do everything in your power to return to the past with me. I want you all alive and with me. We did not survive this hell together for you to lay down your lives like this."

"Let's talk about this later." Nah said with a deadpan voice. Lucina turned to her in surprise and anger. There was nothing to discuss and certainly not a later to speak of. But when Nah pointed to the Grimleal filing out of the side doors of the temple, Lucina let her emotions calm and readied Falchion. "I believe we have company."

 

"Is that...? I think our exalted cousin has returned to us! With a new and improved look as well. That mask must hold the key to unlocking the power of the sacred mariposa-" Owain exclaimed as he stared around the corner.

"Blood and thunder, pay attention, you narrating dolt!" Noire roared as her arrows pierced the half-dead mage Owain had not finished off.

"Egads... My thanks, good comrade Noire-" Owain began again, but focused on cutting down the cavaliers now aiming for them.

Marc stabbed through another sorcerer and, after checking his face, pushed away his limp body in disgust. The dissipating waste spell glanced off her face, another shallow cut over the many she had been accumulating. Her fighting style was becoming frantic and she had suffered a number of slight blows from her constant attempts to push forward into the temple. “I’m not interested in you.” She growled as she finished the gasping sorcerer on the ground with a quick stab to the jugular.

What was worse was that the Grimleal, who did not evaporate into smoke like the Risen, were beginning to form a barricade just from their own fallen bodies. Each time they thought they had cut down everyone in the doorway, several more appeared.

Marc kicked away another body so she could have even footing as the next warrior charged at her. She caught the axe with the edge of her blade, deflected it, and lunged with a battlecry. The Grimleal warrior was quick enough to redirect his force and slammed Marc’s sword arm with his shoulder. She stumbled backwards, fingers numb on the hilt, and nearly fell off the steps. Her knees shook as she lowered her into the best stance of evasion, fingers just inches away from the ground. She saw red and knew exactly where to swing her sword next, to rip a wound from hip to neck.  

“I got you!” Noire’s quivering voice interrupted her concentration as her arrow found its target in the warrior’s arm. A second arrow hit his leg. With a growl of pain, the warrior turned and charged at Noire. The two arrows in his limbs seemed to hardly slow him down.

“Predictable bastard! ” Marc snarled. She sprung off the steps and, in a single bound, leapt onto the warrior’s back, driving her blade through the crack in his armor and sending him crashing the ground. Her knee dug into the small of his back and Marc felt his quiver in death throes before going limp. As she stood back up, Owain covered her and cut down the archer hiding the corner aiming for them.

“Oh, thanks…” Noire said as she stared at Marc with wide eyes and pale lips. “That was scary, but impressive.”

“Didn’t mean to scare you like that.” Marc apologized as she stood up. The bloodlust had faded and it left Marc feeling flustered and out of place. “I...uh, probably made you stress out right there.” She wanted to run her hands through her hair as her embarrassment rose to her cheeks. Instead, she busied herself with retrieving her sword. She drew it out of the corpse’s back and swung the blood off the blade.

They turned back to the door. Owain had finished off the last of them and Marc could see into the rubble of the temple. It looked empty. “Is it actually over?” Noire ventured.

“Hoy, our friends approach! And do they not see we have heroically secured the temple for them?” Owain announced.

“Really, Owain? Do you know how many Risen soldiers you breezed past? They would have pincered you if we didn’t beat them all back.” Inigo said with a cheeky grin. As they fell into an oddly normal routine of bickering, Lucina rounded the corner with Cynthia and Nah in tow.

“Everyone. You’re all alive. Thank the gods.”

“You sure took your sweet time, Lucina. We even picked up these two useless lumps. They were so craven as to leave you behind.” Severa said with a sniff as she gestured to Gerome and Brady.

“I’m glad to see you too, Severa.” Lucina said with a warm yet weary smile. Severa turned her head away with a grunt.

“Marc, you’re wounded all over the place! Stay still.” Brady said as he rushed to Marc’s side.

“Was I? Oh, this is quite a lot of cuts, isn’t it?” Marc examined her ripped clothes and the smeared blood over her body with a disinterested stare. For some reason, the feeling she had that her other half had been in this temple had disappeared within the midst of battle and disappointment settled in her blood. The brand almost felt cold as Brady’s healing magic tickled her wounds and sealed them shut.  

“We don’t have time to sit here and have tea! Nah, the portal?” Kjelle demanded.

“Yes…Naga will need Falchion as a binding agent of sorts. Let’s head into the temple and we can perform the rite-” Nah’s voice was cut off as Grima’s roar rattled the streets again.

“Everyone, inside the temple!” Lucina cried out as the children saw the fell dragon begin to move, unfurling itself towards them.

“Why does it matter- the roof is gone! He’ll spot us and eat us whole!” Yarne cried out but they ran in regardless.

“Marc, let’s go.” Noire grasped Marc’s arm and tried to pull her along. When she did not budge, Noire looked back with fearful eyes. “What are you doing?”

A wave of nausea had crashed in front of her eyes and she could feel sweat run anew down her temple. At the far end of the street, a hooded figure leading an army of Risen marched their way. They were too far for Marc to identify any details but as her blood sung, she knew.

“You oughta join the others. Hey, I’ll hold them off. Call me when the portal is ready.” Marc said and flashed one of her empty-headed smiles, as Severa called them.     

“What, that’s- that’s madness! You’re not even a range attacker-” Noire said.

“I’ve gotten pretty good at throwing knives lately.” Marc tried to joke. When Noire tugged her arm more insistently, Marc let her nonchalance drop. “Noire. Please. Join the others for me. I…I need to do this.”

“What could you possibly gain from charging down an entire Risen army by yourself except for your death? Marc, you’re scaring me!” Noire’s voice started to reach hysteria and on instinct, Marc embraced her. Their armor clattered together and Marc was careful to avoid spearing her face on Noire’s shoulder guard. She reached one hand to Noire’s hair and the other looped around her waist. Noire shuddered against her lanky frame and buried her sniveling nose into Marc’s hair.  

“Promise you’ll never tell anyone. Promise on your talisman!” Marc demanded. It was a low blow but Noire nodded against her neck.

Marc let go of Noire and pointed to the approaching army as if she was pointing out constellations in the sky.

“Do you see him? At the front of the army. His name is Morgan. He’s my twin, Noire, and I need to meet him. Just once before we go to the past and all of this is erased from existence forever. I’ve wanted this my entire life. Everyone wants to go back to the past and meet their parents, but the person I want to see most in the world is right there.” she said and as she confessed this for the first time in her life, the heavy weight on her chest dissipated. It was absurd. She could raise her hands and wave to him across the street if she wanted to.

“I see… Wait, no I don’t! Your brother is Grimleal? But you’ve never met him before? Marc-!”           

“You promised me. Now get inside the temple. I’m not the only one that cares about you! You want to meet your mom and dad again, don’t you? And if you hold the same affection for me that I do for you, you’ll let me do this.” Marc said.

Noire wavered, biting her lip, and her eyes flitted back down the street and into the temple. Seeing her face in distress made Marc feel incredibly guilty, but she stood firm.

“...you promise me this. That you won’t die out there and you’ll come to the future with us. I know you miss your father just as much…” Noire finally conceded. “Oh gods, I’m so useless. I can’t even convince you to not do this-!”

Marc acknowledged she deserved that low blow and the subsequent passive aggressiveness. With a light-hearted smile, she nodded. “You bet. It’s a promise.”

Once the door to the temple, as battered as it was, closed behind Noire, Marc turned to face the gathering army. She could clearly see Morgan, tome clutched in his hand and the hood of his Grimleal robes pulled down low. With a faint laugh, she realized he was shorter than her.

She sucked in a deep breath, prayed to her father for his strength, and, brandishing her sword in a gleaming arc, shouted, “Morgan, son of Lon’qu and Haura, I am here!”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pssst I drew my own fanart because I'm a dork. It's here: goo.gl/R04KDB
> 
> Also this was supposed to be a oneshot. What keeps happening? Kids and suffering are clearly too much fun to write.


	4. Chapter 4

“Father, should I be staying here?” Morgan said with a glum expression as they cut vegetables for that night’s dinner.

“What do you mean? Did you forget to raise your tent or something?” Lon’qu asked.

“No, I meant here in general. With the Shepards. You know, I was traveling with Mother, not your Mother, but the older Mother, the one that raised me. And surely she must be worried as to where I am. Maybe I shouldn’t be messing with the past and should focus on finding Mother. I don’t really know...So I thought maybe I should ask for your advice. You know, fatherly wisdom and all that.”

Lon’qu finished cutting the onions and turned to watch his son steadily peel the potatoes. The skin fell away in ringlets, just as he had shown him earlier. “So this is what has been bothering you the last couple days?” he said, careful not to betray how out of depth he was at the idea of “fatherly wisdom”.

“I mean, I didn’t think that much about it until Noire started asking me about my memories and I told her about my time with Mother. I mean the original Mother, no, that sounds bad…” Morgan dropped off to a mumble, furrowing his brow. His frustration became audible in his voice as he chewed on his thoughts out loud.

“Calm down, Morgan.” Lon’qu said with a measure of alarm. The last time Morgan had been this upset, he had started crying. Even if the experience had given him some memory of his father, Lon’qu did not think it was worth his son’s tears. Morgan regained a grip on himself and nodded.   

“Right, okay, let’s call her future Mother, that is, the Mother that raised me. So I was telling Noire stories, trying to piece my memory back together. And then I realized I left my poor, sweet future Mother completely by the wayside when I joined Chrom’s army! We crossed an ocean, after all- there’s no way she would be able to track me down unless she rode dolphins or whales for days on end. So I was thinking maybe I should...go back and find her?” he ended with a rising intonation, looking at his father hopefully.

“Morgan, we’re in the middle of a war in Valm, a thousand miles from the coast.” Lon’qu said flatly.

“Okay, after the war. Mother says it’ll end in another three weeks anyway.” Morgan said and the absolute faith in his mother’s abilities shone in his eyes.

Lon’qu snorted in amusement. He had joined the Shepards not long after Haura did and had been there since the beginning, when she had still been figuring out her role as a tactician. He remembered how she fretted over her strategies and confessed she had no idea as to what she was doing. Not that he had paid special attention to her that early on! Of course, she had pulled through regardless of what her ego convinced her to believe. But Lon’qu wondered how Morgan, who saw the calm, collected, and victorious tactician of the Shepards, would react to Haura pacing in their tent, falling on the bed to make frustrated unintelligible noises, and then whacking Lon’qu with pillows when he told her to stop complaining.

His wife could be like a child at times, determined to wallow in her own misery.

He turned back to the cutting board, pulling out the dried ginger, and said with nonchalance, “Since we all have to wait until the end of the war, if you want to search for your mother, I will go with you. I am sure Haura will insist on joining as well.”

“That sounds great- wait, but, what about rebuilding after the Valm Empire falls? And the gemstones and the Fire Emblem? Father, I’m not indispensible like the army tactician or best swordsman. You can’t go off with me!” Morgan exclaimed.

The knives were getting dull, Lon’qu noticed, and made a mental note to look over the sharpness of all the blades later. The inventory was well managed by people like Cordelia and Frederick, but it was too easy to grow complacent to their dutiful natures. Lon’qu refused to be part of the slothful problem.

“Father, are you listening to me? You don’t have to come with me.”

“But I wish to come. I confess, I am curious and would like to meet this future version of Haura. And maybe we will learn something about your amnesia. My real question, though, is why you seem so insistent on leaving us. And don’t make excuses.” he said as Morgan opened his mouth too quickly. “If your mother cannot evade my concern, you certainly have no chance.” Lon’qu said, looking over his shoulder with a stern gaze.

Morgan’s knife slipped and he narrowly avoided cutting his finger as he looked up with distressed eyes. “Do I really have to tell you?” he said, deflating.

“No.” Morgan was taken aback. Lon’qu had not finished, however. “But I would like it if you did. I am your father, after all.”

“Well, when you put it like that… when I first joined the Shepards, it was a lot of fun, getting to know Mother and you and getting to make so many new friends and experiences. But recently, probably after Khan Basilio’s death, something’s been changing. ...Sorry for bringing that up again, Father.”

Lon’qu knew what Morgan could only vaguely describe. The night the news was delivered by a grieving Flavia, he had felt the earth give beneath him. Living on the battlefield, Lon’qu would have thought he had accepted that death always lurked around the corner. But the sheer impossibility of his idol, his khan, the man he secretly thought of as his father, being gone forever created a fog that descended on his mind and body. Only once Haura had come over and put a hand on his shoulder did he realize he stood over a pile of destroyed training dummies with a snapped practice sword in hand and sweat running down his brow. She had stayed up with him the entire night, despite his listless protests that she needed rest, holding him. He had just buried his nose into the swell of her chest, shaking. Haura had run her hands again and again down his head and back and murmured into his hair while crying occasionally, “We’re still here. I’m here for you.”

But this was not about him and Lon’qu’s momentary distress was quickly tamped down with practiced stoicism. “It is of no matter. Continue.”

“Right. Well, the other children have been so worried after Lucina’s prediction came true. They all remember their past and are working so hard to prevent it, and now they’re all wondering if nothing has changed. Noire seems especially nervous whenever I try and talk to her now. She won’t even look at me in the eye and snapped at me the other day when I tried to bring up butterfly catching. It feels like I don’t really belong with them any more.” Morgan let it out all in a nervous babble. He was usually full of energy and to see it be channeled into this frenetic worry that achingly reminded Lon’qu of his mother.

“And I feel bad trying to take up all of Mother’s time just to get her to teach me tactics when she’s been so stressed recently. And everytime I’m with you, I just feel like I need to get my memory back, like I’ve forgotten something really, really important to me. My memory doesn’t bother me like this normally. Not to mention Severa’s been saying something about kids not intruding on the honeymoon of all our parents and you just got married-”

“I think I understand now.” Lon’qu cut Morgan off, before he would be subject to deep embarrassment from his own child. He walked over to sit by his son's side. They sat in silence for a small while as Lon’qu gathered his feelings into thoughts into words. His hand went reflexively to his hair, carding it in restless strokes.

“Your friends are just blinded by fear at the moment. It does not mean they do not want you around. I have also been at fault. I am... not the best at expressing my affection. But never think for a moment that Haura and I don’t want you by our side. If you want to seek out your future Mother, we would be happy to go with you. Even if you decide to leave to seek your own life, you will always be our son and will have a place with us. And you don’t have to force yourself to remember me. Memories are as much a blessing as a burden, Morgan. They are not a requirement for us to want you in our lives.”

Morgan surprised Lon’qu by dropping his potato and knife to hug his father and bury his face in Lon’qu’s chest. His father put a steady hand on his back and patted his head awkwardly. Morgan’s voice, slightly muffled by the fabric, wafted up. “...maybe not as eloquent as Mother, but I got the message. My fears sure sounded silly there, didn’t they?”

“They always sound foolish when you speak them out loud. It doesn’t make conquering them any less difficult.” Lon’qu said, thinking back to his own fears. Morgan let go, careful to wipe his eyes on his sleeve, before making red-rimmed eye contact with his father.

“Right, maybe we’ll go after the whole problem with Grima is settled.” he said, picking up the potato and knife out of the dirt. “It will be like a family vacation after the war, just the three- well, maybe four of us! You are going to make me eventually, right?”

“Nngh-! Morgan, that’s none of your business!”

 

They fell into comfortable silence afterwards as Morgan concentrated intensely on his peeling, hardly even looking up when Haura came by and greeted them. She wore a somber expression, her usual nowadays, but her expression brightened up when she saw her family. Haura touched her husband’s shoulder and when he turned around, she went up on her tiptoes to place a kiss on his cheek. Lon’qu looked embarrassed but since Morgan was the only one around, he only grumbled a little.

“Wow, you’re really going at the tubers. Your father’s handiwork, no doubt.” Haura commented. Lon’qu gave a grunt of assent. She walked over to ruffle Morgan’s hair. “Can’t wait to try your cooking tonight, kiddo.”

“That’s right, you’ve never eaten my cooking before. Isn’t this exciting? Some of the best memories I have with you was setting the table up and rounding up your dinner.” Morgan exclaimed.

“‘Rounding up?’ Was I dining on squirrels or something?” Haura replied, amused.

“I’m sure it was something...bigger.” Morgan tried to think back to it, frowning and pursing his lips.

“Perhaps your hunger for bearmeat led you to gluttony.” Lon’qu said over his shoulder and Haura elbowed him in the back.

“Not everyone eats like an ascetic like you. How do you expect to build any muscles if you keep shoveling your meat to me? Don’t think I didn’t notice!” Haura retorted. And there they went, Morgan thought with a smile. As his parents continued their mock-bickering, with a warm teasing lilt in Haura’s voice and a lopsided smile from his father, Morgan racked his mind for more memories of this supposed meal.   

He remember the action of serving, of trapping some animals to be killed for the meal, the praise of his mother for his cooking, but the details ran fuzzy. Morgan would have feared that he was only making up the entire memory, had he not clearly remembered his mother’s pleased expression before the meal.

As he tried to imagine what the food and table looked like, rather than the customary roaring whiteness of no memory, pain began to assault the front of his head, much like when he banged his head against a post. Even when he tried to let it go, the ache persisted and he could not stop thinking about that table of vast flat stone and spiralling columns that led to an overcast sky. As he cast his thoughts upwards, to thoughts of clouds crackling with lightning, the image of a bolt flew down and a migraine split his head in pain. He groaned as he doubled over, bright spots flying in his vision.

“Morgan!” His father and mother’s voices called out. Something sounded off. Everything felt far away. And Morgan let go, sinking into darkness.

 

She stood in front of him, covered in dirt and minor wounds, but cocky. Unbridled enthusiasm seemed to radiate off her form as she swung her sword and announced her presence. And she knew his name and lineage. Even her voice seemed warm and familiar. He was suspicious.

“Hold your lines!” He commanded and the undead armies behind him paused in confusion. They stood there swaying stupidly and cocking their heads with little understanding of the situation. Morgan hated them, the way they smelled, the way they moved, and how they massed together. He infinitely preferred the Grimleal, although boring and trite in their fervor, at least they were alive and mentally cognizant.

And this girl. The humans that Mother worked so hard to extinguish fascinated Morgan with their bodies full of contradictions and their minds full of spirit. Of course he would do anything to make Mother happy, but Morgan could not help being curious. He was a child in a sandbox of bugs, fascinated by how they scurried around and squirmed under his boot.

“Who are you? How do you know my name?” He demanded, pulling his hood back so to face her properly. Morgan approached cautiously, keeping out of range of her sword and with one hand on his tome.  

“Your face even looks like mine!” she exclaimed in delight and Morgan unconsciously raised a hand to touch his face. The few mirrors around the Dragon’s Table had long been cracked, but as Morgan traced the planes of his face with his gloved hand, he did feel as if he was seeing his reflection for the first time in years.

“Is this some sort of trick? I won’t hesitate to cut you down, even if you do have a passing resemblance of my face.”

“Don’t say that! Our meeting would have been too short then. I have been looking for you for a long time. We are not enemies, Morgan. I think you know who I am.” she said and stepped forward. The Risen behind Morgan stirred.

Morgan had never felt so intimidated by a single human before. “You’re crazy. You’re with them, Naga’s brood. And I will never betray Moth- Master Grima! So we are enemies.” he said with defiance.

“Oh, you don’t have to pretend. We both know who our mother really is- or, rather, what she really is. Father was terrible at keeping secrets. How is Mother by the way? Angry? Full of hellfire and stale dragonbreath?” Every word this girl said drove a spear of uncertainty and confusion into Morgan’s heart. How did she know? The Risen behind him could sense it and they started to move restlessly.

“...what is your name?” he asked again.

“Maybe the lack of social conditioning in your upbringing is making this harder for you. I can’t imagine you got out much when you were so busy razing towns instead of talking to people.” the girl said flippantly as she walked straight up to Morgan and grabbed his wrist, preventing him from casting a spell. Her eyes, Morgan noticed, were the same shape as Mother’s, but without the searing red glow. Then she smiled and it was achingly nostalgic. His right side of his ribs, where the sacred Brand of Grima marked him, burned hot. “Do you see now?”

“...You are a daughter of Grima.” The words came without Morgan having to think. The girl, his sister, frowned.

“I’d rather emphasize our paternal relation. But yes, I am-”  

“Marc, daughter of Lon’qu and Haura-” Morgan breathed as his tome fluttered to the floor and his other hand went to her face, tracing out familiar features in the air.

“Your twin sister.” she finished with a little expression of surprise as she released his wrist. “You did know me, you shrimp. And here I was, pulling all the dramatics to keep you from killing me before I could finish speaking.”

“I could never-” Morgan started firmly and then stopped, “Perhaps I considered it. But, how and where- gods, I have so many questions. I mean, it makes perfect sense. Wait, no, it doesn’t. But I know you-”

They leaned in simultaneously and gently rested their foreheads against each other. The contact felt reassuring and a little chuckle escaped Morgan’s lips. Marc returned the laugh and soon they were clutching each other’s shoulders, snorting and chortling.

“This is so strange. Do you understand? I feel like I’ve-”

“-known you my entire life. And yet we just met!” Marc finished and Morgan’s grin was infectious. Their hair, the same shade of black, mingled together.

Behind them, the Risen, who only saw Morgan’s disarmament, rumbled and charged forward. In a fluid movement, they both leapt back, Marc’s sword coming up to defend.

With a hiss of flashing steel, Marc cut down the first Risen that reached her. The next came at her with a lance and she could only dodge backwards. “Undead dastards.” she snarled. Out of instinct, she and Morgan fell shoulder to shoulder.

“Stop!” Morgan shouted, grabbing another tome out of his coat. When they still came, Morgan shot several large swaths of waste magic into the crowd. The Mark of Grima trailed out of the purple smoke and the Risen froze in place, looking dumbly at where several of their fellows had collapsed into dust.

"Does commanding them to stop work? Do they even understand speech?" Marc stage-whispered as they watched the Risen warily. They looked around in confusion before marching back into their lines, red eyes watching Morgan for commands. With a sigh, Morgan relaxed and slipped the tome back into his coat.

"I think so? I was testing it out one day but Mother told me to stop playing with the undead army and make her dinner, so I never did figure out." Morgan said with a straight face.

Marc stared at him in disbelief as she hesitantly sheathed her sword. "Right…and what is your mess duty like? Stewing humans in a cauldron? Roasting Risen on a spit?”

“She like the occasional baby pegasus baked into a pie.” Morgan said with a laugh, finally standing at ease. Marc could not tell if he was messing with her or not. “But come, you must meet Mother! Think of all the years we’ll have to make up. She would be so pleased, to have us both and the end of humanity all in one night. You will love her. She’s the most brilliant tactician ever-”

“Morgan!” The playfulness was gone from Marc’s eyes. “I can forgive you because you never had a chance to know better. But what she did to us, to Father-”

"What is there to forgive? It’s Mother.” Morgan said simply before latching on to another idea with excitement, “Oh, you should bring Father too! He’s not dead, is he? I'm sure Mother would love to see him again-"

"Just...just listen." Marc said and all her swagger and bravado had vanished. She bit her lip the same way Morgan did when he was nervous. Trying to appear less confrontational, she held out her palms as to beseech him. "Mother- no, Grima is trying to destroy the world. She was the one who had Papa murdered, among millions of others. Whatever she brainwashed you to believe, it’s hogwash. She’s the embodiment of the world’s suffering. You can’t keep following her blindly like this."

Morgan turned his head to stare out to the army of Risen, avoiding Marc’s desperate eyes.

"...Come on, Marc. I hope I didn’t come off as being utterly dull to my twin." Morgan said and the weight of his voice turned heavy. For the first time, Marc could see her father in Morgan, from the crease of his brow to the tense way he held his shoulders, as if an immense weight rested on his collarbone. Then he smiled like she did when she wanted to shake the cobwebs of the world off her back. "I know Mother's done awful, awful things. When I was younger, I got really, really mad at her sometimes. Once I tried to befriend a kid in a village like I had read about in the books and she made me burn their houses and turn them into Risen. I don't like the Risen, Marc. They smell bad and can't do much else than kill things. And they’re not really that good at that either."

The Risen in front of them did not even bat an eye at Morgan’s cheerful hatred of them.

"Then you should have left and come find me! I spent my entire life looking over my shoulder for you, you know." Marc's voice rose an octave and Morgan turned to watch her expressions with great interest.

He had not realized how much every tic of the eye and parting of the lips contributed to a mesmerizing portrait of vitality. Marc's expressions were not limited to the Grimleal’s adulating fear or the villager’s terror of death. Her face was a breath of fresh air. After all, Mother rarely wore her avatar’s form nowadays and it was awfully hard to tell any emotion apart from her ever permanent rage when her jaws were bigger than his body.

Morgan laughed at her logic. “How should I have found you though? I had no idea where Father was and that you even existed. Believe me, I poked through the corpses for a while, until I realized I did not know what Father looked like. And I didn’t want to go into the big cities like Ylisstol after I was almost lynched the last time. I don’t belong in the human realm after being raised by a dragon. But Mother loves me and teaches me tactics. I owe her so much. If I leave, who would set the table for her and round up the sacrifices for her? What kind of a son would I be then?” Morgan said and shot Marc an apologetic smile.

Marc looked conflicted, torn by her repulsion, outrage, and distress. Then her face settled into this one peculiar emotion and it took Morgan a second to realize Marc was worried on his behalf. It was a nice feeling.

His hand moved before he realized it and he grasped the crook of her elbow, where the sleeve ended and the gauntlet had not yet begun. Through his gloves he could feel how cool and firm her skin was, especially with the muscle underneath, not slimy like a Risen or rubbery like a corpse.

She looked at him as he looked at his hand and then brought her arms up to loop around his shoulders. Marc seemed to be latching onto him and Morgan stayed still, one arm crushed up between the armor on their chests and the other awkwardly hovering with tome in hand behind her back.

“Marc, um, are you okay?” he whispered in her ear.

“Just relax. I’m giving this hug to you because you’re the one that’s not okay. You stupid, self-sacrificing bastard of a brother. You’re as stupid as Papa. And Mama. And me.” Marc murmured. “I’ll be here for you now. Forever. So you don’t have to go back to that horrid dragon.”

“Marc, Mother is all seeing. She must already know-”

“Morgan, listen to me. Naga’s opened a portal back into time, to prevent our Mother from turning into Grima, to change the world’s future to peace rather than the end of all life. Do you get it now? If we go back, if you leave this world’s Mother, we’ll have a human Haura who will love you and won’t ask you to kill people on her behalf. And you’ll get to meet Papa who is the best father in the world and he will love you-what's wrong?"

"No, no, you have to go." Morgan said as he broke out of her arms to stumble back a couple steps. His levity had vanished completely. "Go- join the rest of Naga's children. You’re not safe here with me."

"I just said I wouldn't leave you behind ever again. Morgan, there's nothing to fear from the past. Everything is better over there, unblemished and still full of hope. And we can change this future! The Marc and Morgan of then will never have to part." Marc pleaded. As she stepped forward, Morgan retreated a couple steps again. His face had completely closed off to her, just like Papa’s whenever Marc has asked him about the past, and Marc wanted to shake him in frustration.

So she did.

"Marc-augh! What are you-" Morgan cried out in genuine distress as his twin sister grabbed him by the front of his coat and shook him hard once or twice before knocking their heads together.

"Naga help me, I will drag you through that gate! We're all in the same hell, being burnt by the same flames, don't you realize? We can't eat, breathe, or shit without the fell dragon's shadow looming over us. You are not going back to that 'thing' that birthed us and just becoming another disposable tool for her to use and ignore. I can't allow my last piece of family to do that to himself." She spat out. Morgan looked up at his sister's searching eyes and scowling mouth. She was treating him like a dream gone wrong, one that she did not quite know how to deal with. Yet behind all that bluster and anger, he could see her fear as clearly as she could see his. He put his hand on hers, bunched up in the cloth of his shirt.  

"Marc, I can't just leave with you. That Mother in the past, before she had us or accepted her Heart of Grima, isn't my mother or yours. I still have my mother. And I cannot abandon her. But you should go and find the people who became our Father and Mother and stop her from becoming Grima. And then the Morgan of that world will never have to make the decisions I made and continue to make." Morgan said and then smiled as he loosened her fingers one by one. “Go. I’ll keep Mother from reaching you before the gate closes. If you stay, she’ll consume you as well.”

“It wasn’t supposed to be like this.” Marc dropped her hands and the pressure of her forehead on his increased as she sunk down a little. “We weren’t supposed to meet and then part again. You’re my twin. I can’t leave you in her grip, in this hopeless situation by yourself.”

Morgan’s smile faded completely as he stared up into her dark eyes and he whispered, voice thick with emotion, “And because we are twins, from the same root, you understand why I can’t flee. We are children of the fell dragon. There is nothing else. Now, let me help you and I’ll distract her as you go for the gate.”

“No. I’ve made my decision. I’ll stay with you.”

Morgan recoiled back as his face lost all color. “No- Marc, what are you going to try?”

“I thought you’d rejoice at me joining the Grimleal. Didn’t you just say I should meet Mother? We’re both children of Grima- where else could we belong?” Marc said and reached out a hand. Morgan looked at her and saw a crow’s gleam, a trickster’s eye in that steady gaze.

“Nothing I say will change your mind, huh?” he replied and took her hand in his. For that brief moment, as their eyes met, Morgan felt a doubt flare up to life and wondered if the ache in his heart was his own selfish desire for a comrade, a companion, a sister.

Marc smiled. “Just like nothing I say will change yours. Family stubbornness.” Their chests rose as they took in a breath and the burn of smoky air matched the itch of their Marks. They stood to face the fell dragon that swam in the sky towards them.

 

She deposited her human vessel on top of the Risen army, crushing them all with the expiration that rained down with her. Morgan and Marc stood firm, palms sweaty as the resulting shock wave washed over them. Grima stood up amid the evaporating smoke, a small figure in the distance.

Morgan kneeled, but Marc had frozen in place in shock. She looked barely human with the gleaming scales running down her skin and the way her red draconic eyes glowed bright enough to make her hair glisten like firelight. The angles of her body were too sharp, from her jaw to her shoulders. But even under the veneer of inhumanity, Marc saw herself in her mother, from the way she strode across the ground to the way her hair fell across her back. She was familiar like Morgan, but in a way that Marc could distinguish as unique. This was not her wanting to find the missing part of herself- this was wanting to become small and safe behind the edge of her father’s coat.

Grima stepped forward, black robes gilded in crimson and gold billowing, and Marc tried to step back, but Morgan’s hand held her in place. Then, Grima warped in a flash of light and she solidified into being right in front of Marc.     

Morgan noticed Mother was smaller than Marc as well. It did not stop Marc from bending her knees, shrinking into herself in front of Grima. Morgan squeezed her hand and he got to his feet slowly.

“Mother.” They said at the same time, Morgan in familiar deference, Marc in a choked breath.

“So this is why you have been tarrying, Morgan.” she said with her voice filled with ice before cocking her head and turning to Marc. “But oh, I can see why.”

She pushed herself closer, nose inches from Marc’s chin. Her eyes burned into Marc’s and Marc trembled. It was as if Grima’s every exhale washed acid across her cheeks. Then Grima smiled, lips pulled back to show her teeth.

“Child of mine, I knew you would come to me one day. My precious daughter, Marc. Show me how you have grown from a babe to this.”

“Is it really you?” she croaked as she raised a shaking hand to reach for her mother.

Grima seized her wrist and pulled her close even as Marc raised her chin and tried to recoil back. The fell dragon’s avatar smelled of poison, sulfur, and decay.  

“Come, let me see your brand. Let me purify you in my flames.” She purred into the shell of her ear and her free hand trapped between their bodies opened the collar of her father’s old robe.

“Wait, Master Grima, she can’t-” Morgan exclaimed and Marc could hear the fear in his voice, magnifying her own.

Grima ignored him as her nails scraped a line down Morgan’s bound breast. Marc felt her body shrivel at her touch and her voice was stuck in a lump within her throat. Then her mother pushed the heel of her palm against the Mark of Grima.

“Mother, no-!” Morgan gasped as the brand came alive underneath the steady pressure of Grima’s hand, searing through Marc.

Marc screamed. Her heart constricted, her eyes bulged, and her blood ran dizzyingly hot. Black and purple miasma licked her feverish skin and Marc’s old wounds split open. The noise around them turned into a empty vacuum of white noise and her ragged breaths filled with void. Grima’s triumphant grin swum in Marc’s hazy vision as she fell to knees. Morgan had grabbed her elbow and his strong fingers digging into her skin was the only thing she could focus on throughout the pain.

“Shame I did not have you at the beginning. I suppose that is all the power you can hold with your thinning blood. I blame the useless man Haura chose to lie with- not a hint of cursed blood within him.” Grima mused as Marc gasped and her hand clawed at her cloth covered chest. She needed to breathe but all her lungs could suck in was the poison fog. Morgan bowed his head and held his sister in his arms, muttering soothing phrases in her ear.

“Don’t...insult him.” Marc choked out as cold sweat dripped off her forehead and she struggled even to raise her head to look at her mother.

Grima ignored her and stepped past them.

“I’m here, Marc. Don’t let your heart fight it- you’ll hurt yourself and forget who you are. She gave you a portion of her power, binding it to our shared blood. Try to take deep breaths and let it settle in you.” Morgan explained in a hushed tone and Marc’s mind was filled with terrifying images of Morgan writhing on black marble floors by himself. That alone nearly made her vomit.  

Grima’s gaze turned to Naga’s temple and she raised one arm with her trailing sleeve billowing in the air. There was a mighty roar and the fell dragon reared up. Grima watched with satisfaction as it shot a giant blast of purple flames towards the temple. Inside there were screams as the front wall and doors were blown apart, and debris caught on fire.

Then a brilliant column of light shot up into the sky, parting the storm clouds for the first time in months. The dragon rumbled in agitation as it shied away from it. The column flickered and then dissolved but they could all hear the eerie whistling noise, like wind along a long empty plain combined with the buzzing of ancient magic. Marc, who had finally gotten her throbbing heart under control even as her forehead was drenched in cold sweat, looked behind her to where the gate had opened. Its white light was visible even from here and she could see Lucina and the others now sprinting for the passageway. Risen, attracted to the light like moths, had also come from other streets, now unhampered by the fallen walls, and had started to pursue them.

“This little charade ends now, Naga. They will burn where they stand.” Grima hissed to herself and her hand spread open. Above them, the dragon’s mouth glowed purple and Marc could see her friends had formed a rearguard to beat back the Risen as Lucina charged alone. Even from this far, she could see the slender open stance of an archer, directly in line of fire. Grima raised her head, jaws agape-

Marc did not have to watch to know they would not make it through in time.

“Damn...you.” Marc croaked. Morgan realized too late what she was doing as she broke out of his grip, her hand flying to her sword hilt.

“No-” Morgan scrambled up even as Marc rushed forward and she drew her sword in an arc to slash at Grima’s side. It ripped through layers of her robe to scrape against Grima’s scaled hide. Marc did not stop and, with a wild scream, she thrusted her sword forward again and again, nicking Grima’s shoulder, legs, arms, torso, trying to find a weak point-

“This is Lon’qu’s technique. A flurry of hits like a rain of meteors aiming for as many vital points as quickly as possible. Morgan, study closely. Your bladework could stand to be better.” Grima said, not even turning around as Marc’s sword jabbed into her back, only to deflect off some ridge off her shoulder blade. Marc roared.

“Don’t you dare speak his name, you worm-!”

Then she swung for Grima’s head and her sword snapped against Grima’s neck. The broken tip flew off and embedded itself in the ground. Marc’s eyes went wide as Grima tilted her head back and, to Marc’s horror, she grinned.

“What a disappointment. You do not even have the strength required to take my head. Even with my blood and his teachings, you are but a shadow of your father. And if Morgan could break him-” she leered, “Well, your blood will save you now. It will be the highest honor, don’t you think, to be the vessel for the power of a god? Shame your human pride and mind will surely shatter underneath it.”

Grima stepped forward and the air pressure around them increased, smothering Marc’s breath. She remembered the pain that small dose of Grima’s essence had brought her. Fighting to swallow her panic, she gripped her broken sword and settled in a defensive position. “No...I will not let you win. And I will not let you use me to bring despair to the past. You can’t...keep me down!” Marc said as she fought the tremendous urge to crumple before Grima’s presence.

Then, there was the telltale hiss of magic behind her. Marc could barely turn her head in time to see Morgan, his outstretched arm wreathed with yellow sigils and his face bloodless. With a thunderous crack, purple lightning pierced her body.

Morgan saw Marc’s lips part as if she wanted to say something. Then her body gave out and she fell face forward onto the ground.

“She attacked you.” Morgan said blankly as he lowered his arm. The tome fluttered out of his limp hand. “I killed her. And Father. He was that strange man that wouldn’t attack me at the Table, who cut down the Grimleal with that same move. And I-!”

Morgan dropped to his knees. His hands shook as he clutched his head and bowed over the fallen body of his sister. Then he keened, full of agony and grief, a wail to the heavens.

Grima looked away with condescension etched in all of her features. In the brief moment of distraction, the children had entered and disappeared into the white light of the gate.

“So that was her ploy… pathetic. I will simply have to kill those brats of Naga in the past.” Grima growled.

She turned back to Morgan who remained stricken by his sister’s side. When she called his name, he did not stir. With her boot, she nudged her dead daughter’s shoulder with distaste.  

“What a waste of my blood. With the two of you, I could have gnawed on your strengths in the past long enough to avoid all the limitations of this pathetic human body.” she mused. Then, because she could afford to wait no longer, she raised her voice into a command, “Morgan, you will take responsibility for that now.”

Morgan still did not move as he shivered in the dirt by Marc’s body.

Grima strolled over and crooned, “Or perhaps you wish to kill me now after learning what I made you do?” She bent down to place both her hands on Morgan’s cheeks and leaned in to kiss his forehead. Morgan closed his eyes and, gripping Grima’s hands for steadiness, he rose to his feet. He breathed one shallow breath before opening his eyes to see his Mother’s glinting red ones. Grima could see the hollowness in his gaze and she relished in it.

“I will take all your power and safeguard it. Let us go to the past together, Mother.” Morgan said and Grima’s smile widened.

“Accept my boon, my love, and my life, then.” Her hands pulled off Morgan’s tactician’s coat, letting it pool to the ground around his feet, pushed up his shirt, and placed one ice cold hand against his Mark of Grima. Morgan closed his eyes and welcomed the darkness.

 

Morgan woke up covered in sweat in a dusty caravan. Judging from the jangling pots, pans, and food materials around him, he must be in the convoy’s train. “What a dream.” he said to himself as he rolled into a crouching position, careful not to hit any of the hanging pots.

“Oh, you’re awake…” Noire said. Morgan turned to see her sitting underneath a blanket with several wadded up handkerchiefs by her side. “You’ve been asleep for the whole morning.”

“The whole morning? But the last thing I remember was cooking dinner with Father…Wow, I don’t think I’ve ever managed to sleep that long!” Morgan exclaimed as he rubbed his eyes. “What are you doing here then?”

“I don’t know if passing out that long is a good thing…” Noire muttered. “I was getting dizzy from the sun, so Haura told me to come rest in here with you. ...um, how are you feeling, by the way?”

“Great! Well, hungry. And sort of dizzy too, now that you mention it. There’s this weird ache in my chest as well and I had the most bizarre dream-”

“I think you should lie down again!” Noire exclaimed in a nervous flutter.

“But I want to tell Mother about my visions! There was all this weird stuff like these giant green-purple rooms filled with broken mirrors and these red eyes. Creepy, right? Maybe it’s a hint to the future or to Grima’s resurrection! And I saw Father again- fighting the Risen! It was definitely future Father too, because he looked a lot older. Angrier too. And there was this girl with a broken sword that was there that scolded me. A lot. And it was strange because I was kind of looking through her eyes for part of the dream,” Morgan babbled on.

Noire pulled her knees up and pressed her back into the wagon side, as if trying to fade into the scenery. Morgan fell silent to ponder the thought and then he noticed Noire’s discomfort.

“What’s wrong? You look really pale! Should I get a healer?”

He reached out a hand to feel Noire’s forehead and Noire recoiled. “You look like her.” she whimpered.

Morgan withdrew his hand, hurt. “Sorry…I didn’t mean-” he mumbled.

“It’s not your fault. Or maybe it is. I don’t understand anything anymore!” Noire said, pulling her blanket close to her chest and shaking her head. “You said you lost your memory and yet you have these weird visions that sound exactly like our future. And when I asked Mother about it, she said your memory is gone the same way Haura’s is, into a darkness even she can’t pull you out of. And I just assumed that had to do with the future we came from and what happened with Marc- and you look just like her but you don’t even know who she is!” The last part came out as a sob.

Morgan was completely bewildered but tried his best to calm Noire down.

“Hey, it’s going to be okay. I promise it’s going to be okay.”

His comforting phrases had the opposite effect. “You even talk like her. She made me promise to never tell anyone about your existence, but you were the one that came through the gate. I tried to put it out of my mind when we met because you had no memories but I just keep thinking back to that day more and more nowadays. Why are you here and she’s...dead?” Noire ended with a whimper. It was as if a great dam had burst, and all the anxiety and stress Noire had built up over the last couple months rushed out all at once until she was dry of anything aside from crippling sadness.

Morgan searched long and hard for words even as his heart sank. Father had been wrong about him belonging here. Noire’s words had sharpened the image of Marc in his mind, even as Morgan became sure he had never truly forgotten in the first place. After all, he knew now that perpetual ache in the hollow of his right chest belonged to her.

Marc had been by all the other children’s sides, had fought Grima with them, and had laid down her life to protect them. Surely his sister could not have been so blind as to misinterpret Noire’s feelings. And it would not just be Noire. Morgan remembered all the times he brushed off the strange gazes from Nah, Cynthia, Severa, and even Owain.

“I don’t know why I’m here and she’s not. I still don’t remember much about what happened, like what I was doing at the time or what happened after I met Marc. It’s all just a strange muddle of feelings. I can’t even remember clearly what we talked about. But after last night, I can say with certainty that I know Marc better than I know my own past. Noire, Marc must have loved you as much as you did her and that’s why she stayed behind, right? To make sure you could all get to this past safely.” As Morgan said each word, he became more sure. “She wanted a future for all of you. To live in moments apart from the fell dragon. Marc would stand proudly by the side of the people she loved until her death, even if she didn’t agree with them. At least...that’s what I dreamed.”

“...you are not so different, Morgan.” Noire said softly.

Morgan looked up at her with wide eyes. And then he smiled with that soft chuckle of his. “Well, we are two halves of a whole, you know.”

“I had known Marc since she was a little kid, trailing behind Sir Lon’qu’s coat. She wanted nothing more than to meet you, she told me. I’m glad she got her wish. ...I’m sorry, Morgan. I shouldn’t have unloaded all that on you. I really am grateful that you are here with us as… well, as cheerful and courageous you, with or without your memory.” Noire said with a hesitant look in her eyes. “Can you forgive me?“

“Of course! Thank you for talking with me. It’s good to hear I’m not completely flying off my rocker. Mother always says being a good tactician means you have to listen to your comrades and help them through mentally as well as physically. And you’re my friend, Noire, even if you like my sister a bit better than me.”

“Morgan, that’s not-” Noire exclaimed, but they were both interrupted by the loud grumble coming from Morgan’s stomach. Morgan started laughing first and Noire joined in with a nervous giggle.

“Are you awake in there?” Lon’qu’s voice penetrated through the canvas flap. “How are you feeling?”

Morgan poked his head out to see his father walking beside the wagon wheels. “Much better! And I’m starving. I can’t believe I missed our father-son dinner last night. And Papa, I remembered another memory of you- and I know you said it isn’t important- but it’s still pretty exciting, right?” Morgan rambled.

Lon’qu raised his eyebrow at his new title of address; Morgan had never called him ‘Papa’ before and it brought a faint smile to Lon’qu’s face. “We’ll have more opportunities in the future. Haura was worried sick about you. And all the Shepards have asking after you, especially the mothers-” Lon’qu suppressed a shudder. It had to be some instinct that meant all of them knew of Morgan’s collapse by dinner time and caused them all to swarm upon him. He had snapped and fled the mess tent last night in an embarrassing display. Dismissing the memory, he addressed Morgan again, “If you feel well enough to walk, we can catch up to her and get you fed.”

“I’ll be back, Noire! Do you want something to eat?” Morgan called behind him.

“I’ll be here…away from the sun. And no, I don’t really share your tastes in food.” Noire said glumly.

“Well, okay, you’ll be missing out on prime leftover hardtack. I might even treat myself to Mother’s week old bear jerky.” Morgan said as he leapt down from the wagon. His father grabbed his shoulder to steady Morgan as his stiff legs nearly gave out.

“I am lucky to have such a courageous son.” Lon’qu said with a snort. Then, without warning, Morgan threw his arms around his father’s shoulders. Lon’qu pulled him slightly off his feet as he hugged him back. “Nightmares?” he murmured.

“Sort of. You were right. She didn’t hate me. None of them do. Oh, Papa…She’ll never get to hug you like this so I thought- no, I just am glad you’re here with me. And all the Shepards. I’m just so relieved.” Morgan blubbered into Lon’qu’s collar.

His father was confused but simply patted Morgan on the back before setting him down. “Nightmares are nothing so easily dismissed. But chin up and clear your head. I’m here for you.”

Morgan rubbed the tears away from his eyes. “And I’m here for you too. I’ll be here for everyone. I’m going to take this new, blank slate and run with it. A chance of infinite possibilities.” Morgan said adamantly and Lon’qu was taken aback. In comparison to the depressed state he had been yesterday, Morgan burned with newfound energy today, as if his ambition had been rekindled and the light in his eyes reflected a new resolve.

The impatient passion that seemed to fill his being now was not unfamiliar to Lon’qu at all. He smiled down at his son. Morgan grinned back, knowing Marc, like himself, had loved the way her father’s eyes crinkled at the edges.

“Your mother is waiting. Come.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's a wrap (well, there's a short heart-wrenching epilogue, but I thought I'd let you stew on this monster of a chapter for a bit)! It's the longest chapter by far, outstripping Chapter 2 by five pages.
> 
> This entire chapter is a lot of Morgan which proved to be rather challenging at times. One of the running themes of the story really was choice and self-sacrifice, especially in the context of future and past, and Morgan takes that with his relationship with Grima to a whole different level of intensity. I thought it was important that Morgan makes the choice to follow Grima, which was one of the many inspirations for this fic, that he be an actor, not a victim of Grima. Marc also is an actor, not a victim, although it may not look that way! I'll let you draw your own conclusions. ^^ 
> 
> Thank you for reading and coming on this wild ride with me. I certainly only intended for this to be a one-shot and not spiral into a giant exploration of the fell dragon family. Let me know how you took it! I want to hear your comments. ^^ Until the epilogue!


	5. Epilogue

As Grima and Morgan entered the gate, the body of the fell dragon flying above began to disintegrate without its Heart. The remaining straggling Ylisseans and the Grimleal alike panicked as the body of a god crumpled down onto the city, its dissolving flesh showering the streets.

"This is really is the end of the world, huh?" With a hum of blue light, Anna stepped out of her own rift door and materialized into the dust and ashes of Ylisstol. "Well, even the apocalypse can be marketed. And let me tell you, the price I got for this wasn't half bad. Right, up we go."

She bent down and picked up Marc's limp body out of the rubble. Above them, Grima's head, its eyes dull and its jaws open to the ground, began to fall.

"Ha, looks like this one is still trying to get one last nibble in. But one of my rules is no free samples!" Anna chuckled to herself as she took off, weaving through the decimated streets, dodging rubble, and throwing herself to the ground when Grima's skull, crashed down behind them. Marc's body flopped a couple feet further.

"Right, right, I should probably make sure you're not already dead. I don't get much profit if I've been hauling a stiff around-" Anna muttered to herself as she turned the body around to check the wounds. "Ooh, lucky you, your wound was cauterized and sealed already. Let's try to get you conscious then..." She raised the stave and a green light enveloped Marc's body. The cuts across her face and torso began to close, but she did not stir.

"Oh dear. Hmmm..." Anna pondered as she tapped her finger on her chin. "Are you really dead? Let me try again-"

A roar startled Anna and she looked up to see remaining patches of Risen emerging where the fell dragon's body had not crushed them. They spotted her easily, a bright cheerful red amid the dust, and charged.

"This is becoming messy real fast." Anna said as she unsheathed her sword. Fighting or running while carrying Marc would be impossible, and so Anna stood in front of the body, bouncing on the balls of her feet.

Before the onslaught reached her, however, another Risen emerged from the shadows behind Anna. Cursing, she turned to take care of of this one, but, with a low bellow, the warrior rushed past her at the undead soldiers. The ripped ends of his blue and white jacket fluttered wildly as he fought with deadly grace, not letting a single one slip by him. His sword was a blur amid the scattering purple dust.

Anna did not waste her chance, scooping up Marc and high tailing out of there. It mattered little to her who this odd Risen was, but she noted his stature and fighting style and promised him a discount if he ever stumbled across her store again.

The Deadlord watched them disappear out of the corner of his glowing red eye before turning to his enemies. “I am nothing but the shell of whoever once inhabited this body. But who am I to disobey, when he summoned me to protect what this wretched fallen warrior couldn’t before? Come! Before we crumble to dust once more, I’ll end you!” The Risen shrieked and he charged.

 

"Let's see, a safe house, a safe house...geez, this girl is heavy!" Anna murmured under her breath. The hooded tactician robe Marc wore kept falling forward over Marc's face and hitting Anna in the cheek.

"Is that...Milord, this way!" A voice called around the corner and Anna turned to find herself among a crowd of wide-eyed, purple robed cultists. Everywhere she turned, tacky golden and purple eyes of Grima adorned their clothing. Grimleal.

"...I am not getting paid enough for this."

 

Marc was dreaming of a field with grass wet with dew and skies unclouded by smog. White birds circled above and the wind smelled sweet as it ran through her hair, unfurling her braid. She breathed and her hands, empty of sword, relaxed out in front of her.

The wind rushed past, stronger, and a black shadow  whipped past Marc’s cheek, startling her. As her eyes followed the blackbird, she saw her mother standing in Grimleal robes, hand outstretched, in the field. The bird settled in her hand and Haura looked up to see Marc.

The air stilled as Marc held her breath. Then Haura gave her a hesitant smile filled with warmth before lifting her hand to let the bird fly free. With a mighty gust, Haura’s hair came undone out of its ponytail, fluttering and unwinding in a brilliant flare of copper red. The bird soared up high and she tilted her head back to follow its path, laughing without a care and for no one to hear.

“She was beautiful then.” Morgan’s soft voice with the familiar cheer drew Marc’s attention behind her.

“Mmm.” Marc hummed in agreement as her twin stepped out in front of her. Their mother was beautiful in the way that blossoms fluttered into running water, ephemeral, vivid, and easily hidden behind dark waters and heavy rains. It could not last and its thrall lasted trifling moments. Morgan kept walking forward and Marc reached out to him. “But you cannot go to her. This will not last.” Marc said to his back and the peace that had filled her faded with old anxiety. Cold dew had seeped into her boots and she could feel the shadow of a cloud pass over them.

Morgan looked back and the melancholy in his expression did not diminish his determination. “I’m sorry I stole this away from you. We may be of the same whole, but this was always supposed to be yours. I was selfish and could not bear to see you die.” Then he broke out into a run for Haura, his Grimleal robes melting away and Marc saw her own myrmidon coat settle on his shoulders with its hem flaring out in a stunning faded blue.

Hot, dusty air hit Marc’s face all at once and she had to turn away to shield her eyes. When she managed to open them again, a hooded figure stood in front of Morgan and Haura. Marc watched, knowing this was a dream and that she had no power but still with a sense of despair drumming in her heart. There was Morgan pleading, arms outstretched in front of Haura. Haura, whose face had turned stoic and unreadable, unsheathed her sword behind Morgan’s back. Grima was snarling and bristling with fury and Marc watched as she lunged at Morgan and Morgan screamed for Haura to run but Haura ran forward to defend the son she did not know she had-

Marc felt Morgan’s Grimleal robes settle over her shoulders, the hood falling over her eyes. With a snarl, she ripped the hood off and ran down the hill. But they had all vanished and the field had resumed its natural quiet aside from the chirp of crickets and the sound of air through grass.

“Mother!” she screamed out to the sky, turning in frantic circles, her voice becoming increasingly high pitched and choked up, “Morgan-! Papa!"

No apparition or vision appeared. Marc stilled. One by one they had all left her behind. Before she could stop herself, a sob came out of her throat. She had promised herself to be strong, to be as stalwart as her father, but no matter how hard she tried, the fat tears that ran down her cheeks would not stop. Nothingness would be preferable to the crippling loneliness of no father, no friends, no Morgan.

"I'm- so sorry... I promised I'd stay strong-" she gasped to the emptiness as she rubbed her eyes on the sleeves of Morgan's robe. "I just...don't want to be left behind. I wanted- to save him and protect everyone. And instead-"

Several moments of prolonged misery passed before Marc managed to stop her shoulders from shaking and her nose from dripping. Looking up, Marc saw the field did not change to show her any new images. The grass still swayed lightly in the wind and the birds still circled above.

She hiccuped slightly and started to walk forward.

"What did I expect? For Papa to come back and promise to protect me forever more, even beyond the grave?" she said even as her brazen laugh turned into a whimper. "For Mother to dry my tears and for Morgan to turn on Grima for anything less than Mother? This is my lot now and I'll have to do the best I can to make them proud. Even if I don't know if there's anything I can do anymore..."

"Well, I have a couple ideas that would relieve those cultists of quite a bit of coin."

 

Marc woke up with a start, sitting up and shuddering. She was still wearing Morgan's robes and her own pants but her torso had been completely bandaged up. Her hand went to her side where Morgan had shot her. "Self-sacrificing little-" she muttered.

"Oh, so you weren't just sleep-talking."

"Anna?" Marc exclaimed as she turned to her side and saw the merchant counting a pile of baubles and trinkets on the floor. "I thought you weren't coming back after that last supply run!"

"Hmm? Oh, you probably met my sister. I'm a different Anna, out on a commission from Haura, strong family resemblance, yadda, yadda. Look at all this stuff! Those cultists may be crazy to give all this up as offerings but they sure know where to get merchandise. You don't need this, do you?" Anna said flippantly as she examined a particularly large ruby covered in gold filigree.

"We're with the Grimleal? And you know my mother?" Marc's head buzzed with a million questions. Anna, not taking her eyes off the haul, pulled out a katana in a crimson lacquered sheath and tossed it to Marc.

Marc turned it over in her hands and her eyes went wide as she pulled it out of its sheathe. This was her blade, no doubt about it, the one she had broken on Grima’s neck. “It’s… my mother’s wedding present to my father. There’s even the inscription-”

_“Wake, butterfly-_

_it’s late, we’ve miles_

_to go together.”_

“...This was my inheritance, but it never looked so new…”

“It’s new because your mother just gave it to your father. I won’t bore you with the details about parallel spatial travel and alternate timestreams, but thanks to the Outrealm Gate and Anna-patented Rift Door technology, I was able to slip into your timeline. Haura gave me this to give to you.”

Morgan could not take her eyes off the blade. She had never seen it so new all her life and yet it was as familiar to her hand as a long lost friend. “...she knows about me? And wait, if she gives this to me now, I will never received it from Papa in her future.” Marc said and then it clicked. “Is this...her promise to me?”

“No idea! I don’t have the faintest clue what goes on in her head, but she paid me most of her personal savings to make this trip, so how could I refuse?” Anna said.

“And Morgan! Lucina, Noire, Owain, everyone- did they make it there? Can I go too? Take me through this drift door-” Marc said, jumping to her feet.

“Sit down, I don’t think you should be moving yet. And it’s RIFT door. And no. It’s really complicated, but only we can really warp through intergame space without a gate powered like Naga’s due to our contractual sister and blood convent-”

“Drain my body of my blood! Fill it with yours! I’ll become your blood sister.” Marc said altogether too readily and Anna looked up askance.

“First off, that would kill me. If I die, I won’t ever get to collect my payment. Secondly, I’m starting to see the family resemblance. Your brother is just as unbalanced as you. And yes, they made it. From what I’ve heard, they’ve been doing a rather good job of keeping our world from becoming like yours. After all, the timelines are diverging so much, even I don’t dare stay much longer, else I get stuck.” Anna shuddered.

“You’re leaving?” Marc said. Even if Anna hadn’t been the warmest face to wake up to, she was familiar. Inwardly she cursed Morgan for leaving her here. They might both be alive and no longer Grima’s thumb, but Marc was starting to wonder if the separation was even worth it.

“Yup. Just got to finish taking inventory and then, bye bye. Don’t worry, the Grimleal think you’re their lord and savior or something after they saw Grima die. They seem pretty harmless once their god is gone. You have a legion of eager followers. Even one of the Risen was risking his neck to save you.”

Marc tried not to let her distress of being left with a bunch of Grimleal show. They probably thought she was Morgan, wearing his robe and all. “Grima died? And what of the Ylisseans?”

“I’m sure some of them are poking around here and there. And yup, the big worm just fell right out the sky. The Risen have been dissolving, so they said, so I don’t think anything else screams ‘giant evil death dragon is gone’.” Anna said. 

Marc began to mutter under her breath as she paced the room. “I’ll need to find the Ylisseans and convince the Grimleal to meet with them in peace. This is now a world that has neither Naga or Grima. It’s just us humans now and we’re going to have to get along to survive. I wonder if there are any farms left outside of Ylisstol- maybe we should journey to the west to Valm. They might still have some remnants of civilization left. And getting everyone away from Ylisse and Plegia should help create cohesion between them…I’m not a born leader, but at the very least the Ylisseans know me and the Grimleal have their fanatical obsession.”

She slid Haura’s gift into the loops of her belt. “How do I look? Ready to rebuild humanity?” she said to Anna with a wry grin.

“You’re Haura and Lon’qu’s daughter alright. The resemblance isn’t as strong as me and my sisters, but the way you talk and the way you hold steadfast- it’s uncanny.” Anna said with a grin. “Here, let me help you. For all this gold, here are some of the supplies, dried food, oil, water purification potions, elixirs, a new jerkin- no ruler should need to address her subjects wrapped up in only bandages.” Marc looked on in amazement as Anna unloaded fresh supplies, many that Marc had only seen in scare quantity these past years, seemingly out of nowhere. She kneeled to pick a lollypop out of the stash, turning the strange novel item in her hand.

“...Wow, thank you, Anna.” Marc exclaimed, feeling her words were too inadequate for much else. Even in the closed room, the air started smelling a little sweeter. Her stubborn sense of hope began to swell in her chest, no matter how hard Marc tried to temper it with caution. Perhaps she would even get to find such a fresh field on her travels as she did in her dreams.

Anna wrapped up all the gold and jewels in a large sack and stood up to look Marc in the eye. “So, what should I tell your Mother and Father? This was their way to try and help you out, but you’ll be on your own after this. I’m sure they’d like to hear something reassuring from their twin daughter.”

Gripping her sword for comfort (how long had it been since Haura’s steady hands tapped out that inscription? Could she still imagine her mother’s warm hands over hers?), Marc thought, her brow furrowing. Then, she realized she had been carrying the words she needed to say since she had been a small child.

“Please, tell them this. It may be wretched and hopeless, but I’m going to try. I’m...pretty sure that’s what Mother and Father would want me to do. And tell them, to have a good life. To love Morgan a lot. And that I’ll always be thinking of them. And that I love them.” Marc bowed, as deep as she could with her wound, and when she looked up through the fringe of her hair, Anna’s smile was soft.

“...Words like that don’t have a price, do they? Sure thing, kiddo.”  
  


_The End_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The haiku is by Matsuo Bashō, one of the most famous Edo poets ever. I wanted to use the original Japanese verse, but as I both cannot read Japanese and Google was woefully unhelpful, I can only offer the English translation.
> 
> As for this epilogue, I just couldn't help myself- so I did a last push and gave closure to everything. I aimed for bittersweet, with the knowledge that Morgan could never bring himself to betray either his sister or mother except at the last possible moment, the knowledge that Marc wanted to free him from Grima more than anything, and that they would never be able to meet again. It seemed the most appropriate of endings. Especially for Fire Emblem. 
> 
> Anna is ridiculously enjoyable to write; her dialogue just fell off my fingers naturally. After all, who else could possibly work miracles for money?
> 
> With this, Those of Grima really is finished. A small epic of broken families and people who never gave up hope. Thank you for your support, silent and spoken. ^^


End file.
